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THE 
FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 


•-•        .  •  •    ?  •. 


I  read  storm  signals  in  the  deep  flush  of  her  cheeks 


•   '  »  \  ' ,  •  '  '  \ 


THE 
FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 


BY 
MARION  POLK  ANGELLOTTI 

Author  of  "Harlette,"  "The  Burgun- 
dian,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
GRANT  T.  REYNARD 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


hs 


i7^-i' 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Copyright.    1918.  by 
Tbb  Curtis  Pubusmhs  Comtaht 


Published,  May,  1918  , 

Second  edition,  June,  1918  .^     A  (J 

Third  edition,  October,  1918 


0^ 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF 

THE  HEROIC  GUYNEMER 
"THE  ACE  OF  THE  ACES" 


^542aa 


CONTENTS 

AFTER 

I 

PAGE 

Alarums  and  Excursions    ...        3 

II 

Deutschland  iJBEE  Alles  , 

19 

III 

On  the  Re  D'Itaua       .      . 

33 

IV 

"Extra'' 

48 

V 

Mr.  Van  Blarcom,  U.  S.  A 

, 

60 

VI 

Thumbscrews      .... 

72 

vn 

The  Tightening  Web  .      , 

84 

VIII 

What  a  Thief  Can  Do 

92 

IX 

The  Black  Butterflies     , 

103 

X 

Dinner  for  Two 

117 

XI 

In  the  Rue  St.-Dominique 

133 

XII 

The  Gray  Car    .... 

147 

XIII 

At  the  Three  Kings     . 

160 

XIV 

The  Plot  Thickens     . 

173 

XV 

Georges  the  Chauffeur     , 

188 

XVI 

"I  Must  Go  On"     .      .      . 

202 

xvn 

I  Burn  My  Bridges   .     . 

217 

XVIII 

In  the  High  Gear  . 

.  227 

CHAPTER 

XIX 
XX 


XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 

XXV 

XXVI 

XXVII 


CONTENTS 

PA0E 

The  Castle  at  Prezelay    .      .      .   2S9 

Introducing     Herr     Franz     von 
Blenheim 252 

In  the  Dark 264 

The  Guest  of  Prezelay     .      .      .  277 

The  Firefly  of  France     .      .      .  280 

The  Obus 304 

At  Raincy-La-Tour       ....  322 

An  Unexpected  Visit    ....  338 

A  Thunderbolt  of  War     .      .      .  355 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

I  read  storm  signals  in  the  deep  flush  of  her 
cheeks Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"Can't  you  see  that — that  I'm  trusting  you  to 
help  me?" 54 

"There  can  be  nothing  that  forces  you  to  come 
here— nothing!" g06 

A  man  lying  outside  the  gate  and  babbling  deliri- 
ously        296 


THE 
FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 


THE 
FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

CHAPTER  I 

ALAEUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

THE  restaurant  of  the  Hotel  St.  Ives 
seems,  as  I  look  back  on  it,  an  odd  spot 
to  have  served  as  stage  wings  for  a  melodrama, 
pure  and  simple.  Yet  a  melodrama  did  begin 
there.  No  other  word  fits  the  case.  The  inns 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  which,  I  believe,  reeked 
with  trap-doors  and  cutthroats,  pistols  and 
poisoned  daggers,  offered  nothing  weirder  than 
my  experience,  with  its  first  scene  set  beneath 
this  roof.  The  food  there  is  superperfect, 
every  luxury  surrounds  you,  millionaires  and 
traveling  princes  are  your  fellow-guests. 
Still,  sooner  than  pass  another  night  there,  I 
would  sleep  airily  in  Central  Park,  and  if  I 


4      THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

had  a  friend  seeking  New  York  quarters,  I 
would  guide  him  toward  some  other  place. 

It  was  pure  chance  that  sent  me  to  the  St. 
Ives  for  the  night  before  my  steamer  sailed. 
Closing  the  doors  of  my  apartment  the  pre- 
vious week  and  bidding  good-by  to  the  servants 
who  maintained  me  there  in  bachelor  state  and 
comfort,  I  had  accompanied  my  friend  Dick 
Forrest  on  a  farewell  yacht  cruise  from  which 
I  returned  to  find  the  first  two  hotels  of  my 
seeking  packed  from  cellar  to  roof.  But  the 
third  had  a  free  room,  and  I  took  it  without  the 
ghost  of  a  presentiment.  What  would  or 
would  not  have  happened  if  I  had  not  taken  it 
is  a  thing  I  like  to  speculate  on. 

To  begin  with,  I  should  in  due  course  have 
joined  an  ambulance  section  somewhere  in 
France.  I  should  not  have  gone  hobbhng  on 
crutches  for  a  painful  three  months  or  more.  I 
should  not  have  in  my  possession  four  shell 
fragments,  carefully  extracted  by  a  French 
surgeon  from  my  fortunately  hard  head.  Nor 
should  I  have  lived  through  the  dreadful  mo- 
ment when  that  British  officer  at  Gibraltar  held 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS      5 

up  those  papers,  neatly  folded  and  sealed  and 
bound  with  bright,  inappropriately  cheerful 
red  tape,  and  with  an  icy  eye  demanded  an  ex- 
planation beyond  human  power  to  afford. 

All  this  would  have  been  spared  me.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  could  not  now  look  back  to 
that  dinner  on  the  Turin-Paris  rapide,  I 
should  never  have  seen  that  little,  ruined 
French  village,  with  guns  booming  in  the  dis- 
tance and  the  nearer  sound  of  water  running 
through  tall  reeds  and  over  green  stones  and 
between  great  mossy  trees.  Indeed,  my  life 
would  now  be,  comparatively  speaking,  a  cheer- 
less desert,  because  I  should  never  have  met 
the  most  beautiful —  Well,  all  clouds  have 
silver  linings ;  some  have  golden  ones  with  rain- 
bow edges.  No;  I  am  not  sorry  I  stopped  at 
the  St.  Ives;  not  in  the  least! 

At  any  rate,  there  I  was  at  eight  o'clock  of  a 
Wednesday  evening  in  a  restaurant  full  of  the 
usual  lights  and  buzz  and  glitter,  among 
women  in  soft-hued  gowns,  and  men  in  their 
hideous  substitute  for  the  same.  Across  the 
table  sat  my  one-time  guardian,  dear  old  Peter 


6      THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Dunstan, — Dunny  to  me  since  the  night  when 
I  first  came  to  him,  a  very  tearful,  lonesome, 
small  boy  whose  loneliness  went  away  forever 
with  his  welcoming  hug, — just  arrived  from 
home  in  Washington  to  eat  a  farewell  dinner 
with  me  and  to  impress  upon  me  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  that  I  had  better  not  go. 

"It's  a  wild-goose  chase,"  he  snapped,  at- 
tacking his  entree  savagely.  Heaven  knows  it 
was  to  prove  so,  even  wilder  than  his  dreams 
could  paint;  but  if  there  were  geese  in  it,  my- 
self included,  there  was  also  to  be  a  swan. 

"You  don't  really  mean  that,  Dunny,"  I 
said  firmly,  continuing  my  dinner.  It  was  a 
good  dinner;  we  had  consulted  over  each  item 
from  cocktails  to  liqueurs,  and  we  are  both  dis- 
tinctly fussy  about  food. 

"I  do  mean  it!"  insisted  my  guardian. 
Dunny  has  the  biggest  heart  in  the  world,  with 
a  cayenne  layer  over  it,  and  this  layer  is  always 
thickest  when  I  am  bound  for  distant  parts. 
"I  mean  every  word  of  it,  I  tell  you,  Dev." 
Dev,  like  Dunny,  is  a  misnomer;  my  name  is 
Devereux — Devereux     Bayne.     "Don't     you 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS      7 

risk  your  bones  enough  with  the  confounded 
games  you  play?  What 's  the  use  of  hunting 
shells  and  shrapnel  like  a  hero  in  a  movie  reel? 
We  're  not  in  this  war  yet,  though  we  soon  will 
be,  praise  the  Lord !  And  till  we  are,  I  believe 
in  neutrality — upon  my  soul  I  do." 

"Here's  news,  then!"  I  exclaimed.  "I 
never  heard  of  it  before.  Well,  your  new  life 
begins  too  late,  Dunny.  You  brought  me  up 
the  other  way.  The  modern  system,  you 
know,  makes  the  parent  or  guardian  respon- 
sible for  the  child.  So  thank  yourself  for  my 
unneutral  nature  and  for  the  war  medals  I  'm 
going  to  win  I" 

Muttering  something  about  impertinence,  he 
veered  to  another  tack. 

"If  you  must  do  it,"  he  croaked,  "why  sail 
for  Naples  instead  of  for  Bordeaux?  The 
Mediterranean  is  full  of  those  pirate  fellows, 
lou  read  the  papers — the  headlines  anyway; 
you  know  it  as  well  as  I.  It 's  suicide,  no  less  I 
Those  Huns  sank  the  San  Pietro  last  week. 
I  say,  young  man,  are  you  listening?  Do  you 
hear  what  I  'm  telling  you?" 


8      THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

It  was  true  that  my  gaze  had  wandered  near 
the  close  of  his  harangue.  I  hke  to  look  at 
my  guardian;  the  fine  old  chap,  with  his  height 
and  straightness,  his  bright  blue  eyes  and  proud 
silver  head,  is  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  as  they  say. 
But  just  then  I  had  glimpsed  something  that 
was  even  better  worth  seeing.  I  am  not  im- 
pressionable, but  I  must  confess  that  I  was  im- 
pressed by  this  girl. 

She  sat  far  down  the  room  from  me.  Only 
her  back  was  visible  and  a  somewhat  blurred 
side-view  reflected  in  the  mirror  on  the  wall. 
Even  so  much  was,  however,  more  than  wel- 
come, including  as  it  did  a  smooth  white  neck, 
a  small  shell-pink  ear,  and  a  mass  of  warm, 
crinkly,  red-brown  hair.  She  wore  a  rose- 
colored  gown,  I  noticed,  cut  low,  with  a  string 
of  pearls;  and  her  sole  escort  was  a  staid, 
elderly,  precise  being,  rather  of  the  trusted 
family-lawyer  type. 

"I  haven't  missed  a  word,  Dunny,"  I  as- 
sured my  vis-a-vis.  "I  was  just  wondering  if 
Huns  and  pirates  had  quite  a  neutral  sound. 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS      9 

You  know  I  have  to  go  via  Rome  to  spend  a 
week  with  Jack  Herriott.  He  has  been  pester- 
ing me  for  a  good  two  years — ever  since  he  's 
been  secretary  there." 

Grumbling  unintelligible  things,  my  guard- 
ian sampled  his  Chabhs;  and  I,  crumbling 
bread,  lazily  wishing  I  could  get  a  front  view  of 
the  girl  in  rose-color,  filled  the  pause  by  ram- 
bling on. 

"Duty  calls  me,"  I  declared.  "You  see,  I 
was  born  in  France.  Shabby  treatment  on  my 
parents'  part  I  've  always  thought  it ;  if  they 
had  hurried  home  before  the  event  I  might  have 
been  President  and  declared  war  here  instead 
of  hunting  one  across  the  seas.  In  that  case, 
Dunny,  I  should  have  heeded  your  plea  and 
stayed ;  but  since  I  'm  ineligible  for  chief  execu- 
tive, why  linger  on  this  side?" 

He  scowled  blackly. 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  boy,"  he  accused, 

with  lifted  forefinger.     "You  like  to  pose — 

that 's  what  is  the  matter  with  you !     You  like 

•  to  act  stolid,  matter-of-fact,  correct ;  you  want 


10    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

to  sit  in  your  ambulance  and  smoke  cigarettes 
indifferently  and  raise  your  eyebrows  supercili- 
ously when  shrapnel  bursts  round.  And  it  *s 
all  very  well  now ;  it  looks  picturesque ;  it  looks 
good  form,  very.  But  how  old  are  you,  eh, 
Dev?     Twenty-eight  is  it?     Twenty -nine?" 

"You  should  know — none  better — ^that  I  am 
thirty,"  I  responded.  "Have  n't  you  remem- 
bered each  anniversary  since  I  was  five,  begin- 
ning with  a  hobby-horse  and  working  up 
through  knives  and  rifles  and  ponies  to  the 
latest  thing  in  cars?" 

Dunny  lowered  his  accusing  finger  and 
tapped  it  on  the  cloth. 

"Thirty,"  he  repeated  fatefuUy.  "All 
right,  Dev.  Strong  and  fit  as  an  ox,  and  a 
crack  polo-player  and  a  fair  shot  and  boxer 
and  not  bad  with  boats  and  cars  and  horses  and 
pretty  well  off,  too.  So  when  you  look  bored, 
it's  picturesque;  but  wait!  Wait  ten  years, 
till  you  take  on  flesh,  and  the  doctor  puts  you 
on  diet,  and  you  stop  hunting  chances  to  kill 
yourself,  but  play  golf  instead  like  me.  Then, 
my  boy,  when  you  look  stolid  you  won't  be  ro- 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    11 

mantic.  You  '11  be  stodgy,  my  boy.  That 's 
what  you '11  be!" 

Of  all  words  in  the  dictionary  there  is  surely 
none  worse  than  this  one.  The  suggestions  of 
stodginess  are  appalling,  including,  even  at 
best,  hints  of  overweight,  general  uninterest- 
ingness,  and  a  disposition  to  sit  at  home  in 
smoking- jacket  and  slippers  after  one's  even- 
ing meal.  As  my  guardian  suggested,  my  first 
youth  was  over.  I  held  up  both  my  hands  in 
token  that  I  asked  for  grace. 

"Kameradr  I  begged  pathetically.  "Come, 
Dunny,  let 's  be  sociable.  After  all,  you  know, 
it's  my  last  evening;  and  if  you  call  me  such 
names,  you  will  be  sorry  when  I  am  gone.  By 
the  way,  speaking  of  Huns — it  was  you,  the 
neutral,  who  mentioned  them, — does  it  strike 
you  there  are  quite  a  few  of  them  on  the  staff 
of  this  hotel?  I  hope  they  won't  poison  me. 
Look  at  the  head  waiter,  look  at  half  the  wait- 
ers round,  and  see  that  blond-haired,  blue-eyed 
menial.  Do  you  think  he  saw  his  first  daylight 
in  these  United  States?" 

The  menial  in  question  was  a  uniformed  bell- 


12    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

boy  winding  in  and  out  among  tables  and 
paging  some  elusive  guest.  As  he  approached, 
his  chant  grew  plainer. 

"Mr.  Bayne,"  he  was  droning.  "Room  four 
hundred  and  three." 

I  raised  a  hand  in  summons,  and  he  paused 
beside  my  seat. 

"Telephone  call  for  you,  sir,"  he  informed 
me. 

With  a  word  to  my  guardian,  I  pushed  my 
chair  back  and  crossed  the  room.  But  at  the 
door  I  found  my  path  barred  by  the  maitre 
d'hotelj  who,  at  sight  of  my  progress,  had 
sprung  forward,  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

"Excuse  me,  sir.  You  're  not  leaving,  are 
you?"  The  man  was  actually  breathing  hard. 
Deferential  as  his  bearing  was,  I  saw  no  cause 
for  the  inquiry,  and  with  some  amusement  and 
more  annoyance,  I  wondered  if  he  suspected 
me  of  slipping  out  to  evade  my  bill. 

"No,"  I  said,  staring  him  up  and  down;- 
"I  'm  not !"     I  passed  down  the  hall  to  the 
entrance  of  the  telephone  booths.     Glancing 
back,  I  could  see  him  still  standing  there  gazing 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    13 

after  me;  his  face,  I  thought,  wore  a  relieved 
expression  as  he  saw  whither  I  was  bound. 

The  queer  incident  left  my  mind  as  I  se- 
cluded myself,  got  my  connection,  and  heard 
across  the  wire  the  indignant  accents  of  Dick 
Forrest,  my  former  college  chum.  Upon 
leaving  his  yacht  that  morning,  I  had  promised 
him  a  certain  power  of  attorney — Dick  is  a  law- 
yer and  is  called  a  good  one,  though  I  can  never 
quite  credit  it — and  he  now  demanded  in  un- 
judicial heat  why  it  had  not  been  sent  round. 

"Good  heavens,  man,"  I  cut  in  remorsefully, 
"I  forgot  it!  The  thing  is  in  my  room  now. 
Where  are  you?  That's  all  right.  You'll 
have  it  by  messenger  within  ten  minutes." 
Hastily  rebooking  the  receiver,  I  bolted  from 
my  booth. 

In  the  restaurant  door  against  a  background 
of  paneled  walls  the  maitre  d'hotel  still  stood, 
as  if  watching  for  my  return.  I  sprang  into 
an  elevator  just  about  to  start  its  ascent,  and 
saw  his  mouth  fall  open  and  his  feet  bring  him 
several  quick  steps  forward. 

"The  man  is  crazy,"  I  told  myself  with  con- 


14    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

viction  as  I  shot  up  four  stories  in  as  many  sec- 
onds and  was  deposited  in  my  hall. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  desk  where  the  floor 
clerk  usually  kept  vigil,  gossiping  affably  with 
such  employees  as  passed.  The  place  seemed 
deserted;  no  doubt  all  the  guests  were  down- 
stairs. Treading  lightly  on  the  thick  carpet,  I 
went  down  the  hall  to  Room  four  hundred 
and  three,  and  found  the  door  ajar  and  a  light 
visible  inside. 

My  bed,  I  supposed,  was  being  turned  down. 
I  swung  the  door  open,  and  halted  in  my  tracks. 
With  his  back  to  me,  bent  over  a  wide-open 
trunk  that  I  had  left  locked,  was  a  man. 

Stepping  inside,  I  closed  the  door  quietly, 
meanwhile  scrutinizing  my  unconscious  visitor 
from  head  to  foot.  He  wore  no  hotel  insignia 
— was  neither  porter,  waiter,  nor  valet. 

"Well,  how  about  it?  Anything  there  suit 
you?"  I  inquired  affably,  with  my  back  against 
the  door. 

Exclaiming  gutturally,  he  whisked  about 
and  faced  me  where  I  stood  quite  prepared  for 
a   rough-and-tumble.     Instead   of   a   typical 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    15 

housebreaker  of  fiction,  I  saw  a  pale,  rabbit- 
like, decent-appearing  little  soul.  He  was 
neatly  dressed;  he  seemed  unarmed  save  for  a 
great  ring  of  assorted  keys ;  and  his  manner  was 
as  propitiatory  and  mild-eyed  as  that  of  any 
mouse.  There  must  be  some  mistake.  He 
was  some  sober  mechanic,  not  a  robber.  But 
on  the  other  hand,  he  looked  ready  to  faint  with 
fright. 

"Mein  Gottr  he  murmured  in  a  sort  of  fish- 
like gasp. 

This  illuminating  remark  was  my  first  clue. 

"Ah!  Mein  Herr  is  German?"  I  inquired, 
not  stirring  from  my  place. 

The  demand  wrought  an  instant  change  in 
him — ^he  drew  himself  up,  perhaps  to  five  feet 
five. 

"Vat  you  got  against  the  Germans?"  he 
asked  me,  almost  with  menace.  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  fanatic  intoning  "Die  Wacht  am 
Rhein" — of  a  zealot  speaking  for  the  whole 
embattled  Faterland, 

The  situation  was  becoming  farcical. 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  I  assure  you,"  I  re- 


16    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

plied.  "They  are  a  simple,  kindly  people. 
They  are  musical.  They  have  given  the  world 
Schiller,  Goethe,  the  famous  Kultur,  and  a  new 
conception  of  the  possibilities  of  war.  But  I 
think  they  should  have  kept  out  of  Belgium, 
and  I  feel  the  same  way  about  my  room — and 
don't  you  try  to  pull  a  pistol  or  I  may  feel  more 
strongly  still." 

*T  ain't  got  no  pistol,  nein"  declared  my 
visitor,  sulkily.  His  resentment  had  already 
left  him ;  he  had  shrunk  back  to  five  feet  three. 

"Well,  I  have,  but  I  '11  worry  along  without 
it,"  I  remarked,  with  a  glance  at  the  nearest 
bag.  As  targets,  I  don't  regard  my  fellow- 
creatures  with  great  enthusiasm  and,  more- 
over, I  could  easily  have  made  two  of  this 
mousy  champion  of  a  warlike  race.  Illog- 
ically,  I  was  feeling  that  to  bully  him  was  sheer 
brutality.  Besides  this,  my  dinner  was  not 
being  improved  by  the  delay. 

"Look  here,"  I  said  amiably,  *T  can't  see 
that  you  've  taken  anything.  Speak  up  lively 
now;  I  '11  give  you  just  one  chance.  If  you 
care  to  tell  me  how  you  got  through  a  locked 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    17 

door  and  what  you  were  after,  I  '11  let  you  go. 
I  'm  off  to  the  firing  line,  and  it  may  bring  me 
luck!" 

Hope  glimmered  in  his  eyes.  In  broken 
English,  with  a  childlike  ingenuousness  of  de- 
meanor, he  informed  me  that  he  was  a  first- 
class  locksmith — first-glass  he  called  it — who 
had  been  sent  by  the  management  to  open  a 
reluctant  trunk.  He  had  entered  my  room,  I 
was  led  to  infer,  by  a  mistake. 

"I  go  now,  ja?"  he  concluded,  as  postscript 
to  the  likely  tale. 

"The  devil  you  do!  Do  you  take  me  for  an 
utter  fool?"  I  asked,  excusably  nettled,  and 
stepping  to  the  telephone,  I  took  the  receiver 
from  its  hook. 

"Give  me  the  manager's  office,  please,"  I  re- 
quested, watching  my  visitor.  "Is  this  the 
manager?  This  is  Mr.  Bayne  speaking,  Room 
four  hundred  and  three.  I  've  found  a  man 
investigating  my  trunk — a  foreigner,  a  Ger- 
man." An  exclamation  from  the  manager, 
and  from  the  listening  telephone-girl  a  shriek! 
"Yes;  I  have  him.    Yes;  of  course  I  can  hold 


18    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

him.     Send  up  your  house  detective  and  be 
quick!    My  dinner  is  spoiling — " 

The  receiver  dropped  from  my  hand  and 
clattered  against  the  wall.  The  little  Ger- 
man, suddenly  galvanized,  had  leaped  away 
from  the  trunk,  not  toward  me  and  the  door 
beyond  me,  but  toward  the  electric  switch. 
His  fingers  found  and  turned  it,  plunging  the 
room  into  the  darkness  of  the  grave.  Taken 
unaware,  I  barred  his  path  to  the  hall,  only  to 
hear  him  fling  up  the  window  across  the  room. 
Against  the  faint  square  of  light  thus  revealed, 
I  saw  him  hang  poised  a  moment.  Then  with 
a  desperate  noise,  a  moan  of  mixed  resolve  and 
terror,  he  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  II 

DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  AULES 

STANDING  there  staring  after  him,  I  felt 
like  a  murderer  of  the  deepest  dye.  It 
is  one  thing  to  hand  over  to  the  police  their 
natural  prey,  a  thief  taken  red-handed,  but 
quite  another,  and  a  much  more  harrowing  one, 
to  have  him  slip  through  your  fingers,  precipi- 
tate himself  into  mid-air,  and  drop  four  stories 
to  the  pavement,  scattering  his  brains  far  and 
wide.  There  was  not  a  vestige  of  hope  for  the 
poor  wretch. 

Unnerved,  I  groped  to  the  window  and 
peered  downward  for  his  remains.  My  first 
glance  proved  my  regrets  to  be  superfluous. 
Beneath  my  window,  which,  owing  to  the 
crowded  condition  of  the  hotel,  opened  on  a  side 
street,  a  fire-escape  descended  jaggedly;  and 
upon  it,  just  out  of  arm's  reach,  my  recent 
guest  clung  and  wobbled,  struggling  with  an 

19 


20    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

attack  of  natural  vertigo  before  proceeding 
toward  the  earth. 

By  this  time  my  rage  was  such  that  I  would 
have  followed  that  little  thief  almost  anywhere. 
It  was  not  the  dizziness  of  the  yawning  void 
that  stayed  me.  I  should  have  climbed  the 
Matterhorn  with  all  cheerfulness  to  catch  him 
at  the  top.  But  sundry  visions  of  the  figure  I 
would  cut,  the  crowd  that  might  gather,  and 
the  probable  ragging  in  the  morning  papers, 
were  too  much  for  me,  and  I  sorrowfully  ad- 
mitted that  the  game  was  not  worth  the  price. 

The  little  man's  nerves,  meanwhile,  seemed 
to  be  steadying.  Feeling  each  step,  he  began 
cautiously  to  work  his  way  down.  To  my 
wrath  he  even  looked  up  at  me  and  indulged  in 
a  grimace — but  his  triumph  was  ill-timed,  for 
at  that  very  instant  I  beheld,  strolling  along 
the  street  below,  humming  and  swinging  his 
night-stick,  as  leisurely,  complacent,  and  stal- 
wart a  representative  of  the  law  as  one  could 
wish  to  see. 

"Hi,  there!  Officer  I"  I  shouted  lustily. 
My  hail,  if  not  my  words,  reached  him;  he 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    21 

glanced  up,  saw  the  figure  on  the  ladder,  and 
was  seized  instantaneously  with  the  spirit  of 
the  chase. 

Yelling  something  reassuring,  the  gist  of 
which  escaped  me,  he  constituted  himself  a  re- 
ception committee  of  one  and  started  for  the 
ladder's  foot.  But  our  doughty  Teuton  was  a 
resourceful  person.  Roused  to  the  urgency  of 
his  plight,  he  looked  wildly  up  at  me,  down  at 
the  officer,  and,  hastily  pushing  up  the  nearest 
window,  hoisted  himself  across  its  sill,  and 
again  took  refuge  in  the  St.  Ives  Hotel. 

With  a  bellow  of  rage,  the  policeman  dashed 
toward  the  porte-cochere,  while  I  ducked  back 
into  the  room,  rapidly  revolving  my  chances  of 
cutting  off  the  man's  retreat  below.  If  the 
system  of  numbering  was  the  same  on  every 
floor,  my  thief  must,  of  course,  emerge  from 
Room  303.  But  this  similarity  was  problem- 
atical, and  to  invade  apartments  at  random, 
disturbing  women  at  their  opera  toilets  and 
maybe  even  waking  babies,  was  too  desperate  a 
shift  to  try. 

It  remained   for  me   to   wait   with   what 


22     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

patience  I  could  summon  for  the  house  detec- 
tive. And  where  was  he,  by  the  way?  I  had 
turned  in  my  alarm  a  good  five  minutes  before. 

In  an  unenviable  humor  I  stumbled  across 
the  room,  tripping  and  barking  my  shins  over 
various  malignant  hassocks,  tables,  and  chairs. 
Finding  the  switch  at  last,  I  flooded  the  room 
with  light,  and  saw  myself  in  the  mirror,  with 
tie  and  coat  askew. 

"Now,"  I  muttered,  straightening  them 
viciously,  "we  *11  see  what  he  took  away."  But 
the  trunk  seemed  undisturbed  when  I  exam- 
ined it,  and  my  various  bags  and  suitcases  were 
securely  locked.  I  had  found  Forrest's  power 
of  attorney  and  was  storing  it  in  my  pocket 
when  voices  rose  outsidco 

A  group  of  four  was  approaching,  comprised 
of  a  spruce,  dress-coated  manager;  a  short 
thick-set,  broad-faced  man  who  was  doubtless 
the  long-overdue  detective;  a  professional- 
appearing  gentleman  with  a  black  bag,  obvi- 
ously the  house-physician;  and  the  policeman 
that  I  had  summoned  from  his  stroll  below. 
The  latter,  in  an  excited  brogue,  was  recount- 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    23 

ing  his  late  vision  of  the  thief,  "hangin'  between 
hivin  and  earth,  no  less,"  while  the  detective 
scornfully  accused  him  of  having  been  asleep  or 
jingled,  on  the  ground  of  my  late  telephone  to 
the  effect  that  I  was  holding  the  man. 

The  manager,  as  was  natural,  took  the  initia- 
tive, bustling  past  me  into  my  room  and  peer- 
ing eagerly  around. 

"I  need  n't  say,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  orated  flu- 
ently, "how  sorry  I  am  that  this  has  happened 
— especially  beneath  our  roof.  It  is  our  first 
case,  I  assure  you,  of  anything  so  regrettable. 
If  it  gets  into  the  papers  it  won't  do  us  any 
good.  Now  the  important  thing  is  to  take  the 
fellow  out  by  the  rear  without  courting  notice. 
Why,  where  is  he?"  he  asked  hopefully. 
"Surely  he  is  n't  gone?" 

"Sure,  and  did  n't  I  tell  ye?  'T  is  without 
eyes  ye  think  me  1"  The  policeman  was  resent- 
ful, and  so,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  I.  The  whole 
maddening  affair  seemed  bent  on  turning  to 
farce  at  every  angle;  the  doctor,  as  a  final 
straw,  had  just  offered  sotto  voce  to  mix  me  a 
soothing  draft  1 


24    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Gone?  Of  course  he  's  gone,  man!"  I  ex- 
claimed with  some  natural  temper.  "Did  you 
expect  him  to  sit  here  waiting  all  this  time? 
What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing — reading 
the  papers — playing  bridge?  A  dozen  thieves 
could  have  escaped  since  I  telephoned  down- 
stairs!" 

"But  you  said,"  he  murmured,  apparently 
dazed,  "that  you  could  hold  him."  A  tactless 
remark,  which  failed  to  assuage  my  wrath! 

"So  I  could,"  I  responded  savagely.  "But 
I  did  n't  expect  him  to  turn  into  a  conjuring 
trick,  which  is  what  he  did.  He  went  out  that 
window  head  foremost,  down  the  ladder,  and 
into  the  room  below.  Let's  be  after  him — 
though  we  stand  as  much  chance  of  catching 
him  as  we  do  of  finding  the  King  of  England !" 
And  I  turned  toward  the  doorway,  where  the 
manager,  the  doctor  and  the  detective  were 
massed. 

The  manager  put  his  hand  upon  my  arm.  I 
looked  down  at  it  with  raised  eyebrows,  and  he 
took  it  away. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said,  adopting  a  manner 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    25' 

of  appeal,  "but  if  you  '11  reflect  for  a  moment 
you  '11  see  how  it  is,  I  know.  People  don't 
care  for  houses  where  burglars  fly  in  and  out  of 
windows ;  it  makes  them  nervous ;  you  would  n't 
believe  how  easily  a  hotel  can  get  a  bad  name 
and  lose  its  clientele.  Besides,  from  what  you 
tell  me,  the  fellow  must  be  well  away  by  this 
time.  You  'd  do  me  a  favor — a  big  one — by 
dropping  the  matter  here." 

"Well,  I  won't!"  I  snapped  indignantly. 
"I  '11  see  it  through — or  start  something  still 
livelier.  Are  you  coming  down  with  me  to 
investigate  the  room  beneath  us  or  do  you  want 
me  to  ring  up  police  headquarters  and  find  out 
why?" 

In  the  hall  the  policeman  looked  at  me 
across  the  intervening  heads  and  dropped  one 
slow,  approving  eyelid.  "If  the  gintleman 
says  so — "  he  remarked  in  heavy  tones  fraught 
with  meaning,  and  fixed  a  cold,  blue,  apprais- 
ing gaze  on  the  detective,  who  thereupon 
yielded  with  unexpectedly  good  grace. 

"Aw,  what's  eating  you?"  was  his  amiable 
demand.     "Sure,  we  was  going  right  down 


26    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

there  anyhow — soon  's  we  found  out  how  the 
land  lay  up  here." 

The  five  of  us  took  the  elevator  to  the  lower 
floor.  An  unfriendly  atmosphere  surrounded 
me.  I  was  held  a  hotel  wrecker  without  reason 
and  without  ruth.  We  found  the  corridor 
empty,  the  floor  desk  abandoned — a  state  of 
things  rather  strikingly  the  duplicate  of  that 
reigning  overhead — and  in  due  course  paused 
before  Room  303,  where  the  manager,  figura- 
tively speaking,  washed  his  hands  of  the  affair. 

"Here  is  the  room,  Mr.  Bayne,  for  which  you 
ask."  If  I  would  persist  in  my  nefarious 
course,  added  his  tone. 

The  detective,  obeying  the  hypnotic  eye  of 
the  policeman,  knocked.  There  was  silence. 
The  bluecoat,  my  one  ally,  was  crouching  for  a 
spring.  Then  light  steps  crossed  the  room, 
and  the  door  was  opened.  There  stood  a  girl, 
— a  most  attractive  girl,  the  girl  that  I  had 
seen  down-stairs.  Straight  and  slender,  spirit- 
edly gracious  in  bearing,  with  gray  eyes  ques- 
tioning us  from  beneath  lashes  of  crinkly  black, 
she  was  a  radiant  figure  as  she  stood  facing  us. 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    27 

with  a  coat  of  bright-blue  velvet  thrown  over 
her  rosy  gown. 

"Beg  pardon,  miss,"  said  the  policeman, 
brightly,  "this  gintleman 's  been  robbed." 

As  her  eyebrows  went  up  a  fraction,  I  could 
have  murdered  him,  for  how  else  could  she  read 
his  statement  save  that  I  took  her  for  the  thief? 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  I  explained,  bowing  for- 
mally, "to  disturb  you.  We  are  hunting  a 
thief  who  took  French  leave  by  my  fire-escape. 
I  must  have  been  mistaken — I  thought  that  he 
dodged  in  again  by  this  window.  You  have 
not  seen  or  heard  anything  of  him,  of  course?" 

"No,  I  have  n't.  But  then,  I  just  this  in- 
stant came  up  from  dinner,"  she  replied.  Her 
low,  contralto  tones,  quite  impersonal,  were  yet 
delightful;  I  could  have  stood  there  talking 
burglars  with  her  till  dawn.  "Do  you  wish  to 
come  in  and  make  sure  that  he  is  not  in  hiding?" 
With  a  half  smile  for  which  I  did  n't  blame  her, 
she  moved  a  step  aside. 

"Certainly  notl"  I  said  firmly,  ignoring  a 
nudge  from  the  policeman.  "He  left  before 
you  came — there  was  ample  time.     It  is  not  of 


28    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

the  least  consequence,  anyhow.  Again  I  beg 
your  pardon."  As  she  inclined  her  head,  I 
bowed,  and  closed  the  door. 

"I  trust,  Mr.  Bayne,  that  you  are  satisfied  at 
last."  This  was  the  St.  Ives  manager,  and  I 
did  not  like  his  tone. 

"I  am  satisfied  of  several  things,"  I  retorted 
sharply,  "but  before  I  share  them  with  you, 
will  you  kindly  tell  me  your  name?" 

"My  name  is  Ritter,"  he  said  with  dignity. 
"I  confess  I  fail  to  see  what  bearing — " 

"Call  it  curiosity,"  I  interrupted.  "Doctor, 
favor  me  with  yours." 

The  doctor  peered  at  me  over  his  glasses, 
hesitated,  and  then  revealed  his  patronym.  It 
was  Swanburger,  he  informed  me. 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  what  on  earth — " 

"Merely,"  said  I,  with  conviction,  "that  this 
isn't  an  Allies'  night.  It  is  Deutschland 
ilber  Alles;  the  stars  are  fighting  for  the 
Teuton  race.  Now,  let 's  hear  how  you  were 
christened,"  I  added,  turning  to  the  house  de- 
tective, who  looked  even  less  sunny  than  before 
if  that  could  be. 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    29 

"See  here,  whatcher  giving  us?"  snarled  that 
somewhat  unpohshed  worthy.  *'My  name  's 
Zeitf eld ;  but  I  was  born  in  this  country,  don't 
you  forget  it,  same  as  you." 

"A  great  American  personality,"  I  remarked 
dreamily,  "has  declared  that  in  the  hyphenate 
lies  the  chief  menace  to  the  United  States. 
And  what 's  your  name?"  I  asked  the  repre- 
sentative of  law  and  order.     "Is  it  Schmidt?" 

"No,  sorr,"  he  responded,  grinning;  "it 's 
O'Reilly,  sorr." 

"Thank  heaven  for  that  I  You  Ve  saved  my 
reason,"  I  assured  him  as  I  leaned  against  the 
wall  and  scanned  the  Germanic  hordes. 

"Mr.  Ritter,"  said  I,  addressing  that  gen- 
tleman coldly,  "when  I  am  next  in  New  York 
I  don't  think  I  shall  stop  with  you.  The  at- 
mosphere here  is  too  hectic;  you  answer  calls 
for  help  too  slowly — calls,  at  least,  in  which 
a  guest  indiscreetly  tells  you  that  he  has 
caught  a  German  thief.  It  looks  extremely 
queer,  gentlemen.  And  there  are  some  other 
points  as  well — " 

But  there  I  paused.     I  lacked  the  necessary 


30     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

conviction.  After  all  I  was  the  average  citi- 
zen, with  the  average  incredulity  of  the  far- 
fetched, the  melodramatic,  the  absurd.  To 
connect  the  head  waiter's  panic  at  my  depart- 
ure with  the  episode  in  my  room,  to  declare 
that  the  floor  clerks  had  been  called  from  their 
posts  for  a  set  purpose,  and  the  halls  deliber- 
ately cleared  for  the  thief,  were  flights  of  fancy 
that  were  beyond  me.     The  more  fool  I ! 

By  the  time  I  saw  the  last  of  the  adventure  I 
began  that  night — it  was  all  written  in  the  nth 
power,  and  introduced  in  more  or  less  impor- 
tant roles  the  most  charming  girl  in  the  world, 
the  most  spectacular  hero  of  France,  the  clev- 
erest secret-service  agent  in  the  pay  of  the 
fatherland,  and  I  sometimes  ruefully  sus- 
pected, the  biggest  imbecile  of  the  United 
States  in  the  person  of  myself — I  knew  better 
than  to  call  any  idea  impossible  simply  be- 
cause it  might  sound  wild.  But  at  the  moment 
my  education  was  in  its  initial  stages,  and 
turning  with  a  shrug  from  three  scowling  faces, 
I  led  my  friendly  bluecoat  a  little  aside. 

"I  Ve  no  more  time  to-night  to  spend  thief- 


DEUTSCHLAND  UBER  ALLES    31 

catching,  Officer,"  I  told  him.  I  had  just 
recalled  my  dinner,  now  utterly  ruined,  and 
Dunny,  probably  at  this  instant  cracking  wal- 
nuts as  fiercely  as  if  each  one  were  the  kaiser's 
head.  "  But  I  'm  an  amateur  in  these  affairs, 
and  you  are  a  master.  Before  I  go,  as  man 
to  man,  what  the  dickens  do  you  make  of  this?" 

Flattered,  he  looked  profound. 

"I  'm  thinking,  sorr,"  he  gave  judgment, 
"ye  had  the  rights  of  it.  Seein'  as  how  th' 
thafe  is  German,  ye '11  not  set  eyes  on  him 
more — for  divil  a  wan  here  but 's  of  that  coun- 
thry,  and  they  stick  together  something 
fierce  I" 

"Well,"  I  admitted,  "our  thoughts  run  par- 
allel. Here  is  something  to  drink  confusion 
to  them  all.  And,  O'Reilly,  I  am  glad  I  'm 
going  to  sail  to-morrow.  I  'd  rather  live  on  a 
sea  full  of  submarines  than  in  this  hotel, 
would  n't  you?" 

Touching  his  forehead,  he  assented,  and 
wished  me  good-night  and  a  good  journey;  part 
of  his  hope  went  unfulfilled,  by  the  way.  That 
ocean  voyage  of  mine  was  to  take  rank,  in  part 


32     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

at  least,  as  a  first-class  nightmare.  The  Cen- 
tral powers  could  scarcely  have  improved  on 
it  by  torpedoing  us  in  mid-ocean  or  by  speed- 
ing us  upon  our  trip  with  a  cargo  of  clock- 
work bombs. 


CHAPTER  III 

ON   THE  RE  d'iTALIA 

THE  sailing  of  the  Re  d'ltalia  was 
scheduled  for  3  p.  m.  promptly,  but  be- 
ing well  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  steamers 
at  most  times,  above  all  in  these  piping  times 
of  war,  it  was  not  until  an  hour  later  that  I 
left  the  St.  Ives,  where  the  manager,  by  the 
way,  did  not  appear  to  bid  me  farewell. 

The  thermometer  had  been  falling,  and  the 
day  was  crisp  and  snappy,  with  a  light  powder- 
ing of  snow  underfoot  and  a  blue  tang  and 
sparkle  in  the  air.  Dunny  accompanied  me  in 
the  taxicab,  but  was  less  talkative  than  usual. 
Indeed,  he  spoke  only  two  or  three  times  be- 
tween the  hotel  and  the  pier. 

"I  say,  Dev,"  was  his  first  contribution  to 
the  conversation,  "d'  you  remember  it  was  at  a 
dock  that  you  and  I  first  met?  It  was  night, 
blacker  than  Tophet,  and  raining,  and  you 

83 


84    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

came  ashore  wet  as  a  rag.  You  were  the 
lonesomest,  chilliest,  most  forlorn  little  tike 
I  ever  saw ;  but,  by  the^ternal,  you  were  trying 
not  to  cry !" 

"Lonesome?  I  rather  think  so!"  I  echoed 
with  conviction.  "Wynne  and  his  wife 
brought  me  over ;  he  played  poker  all  the  way, 
and  she  read  novels  in  her  berth.  And  I  heard 
every  one  say  that  I  was  an  orphan,  and  it  was 
very,  very  sad.  Well,  I  was  never  lonely  after 
that,  Dunny."     My  hand  met  his  half-way. 

The  next  time  that  he  broke  silence  was  upon 
the  ferry,  when  he  urged  on  me  a  fat  wallet 
stuffed  with  plutocratic-looking  notes. 

"In  case  anything  should  happen,"  ran  his 
muttered  explanation.  I  have  never  needed 
Dunny's  money, — his  affection  is  another  mat- 
ter,— but  he  can  spare  it,  and  this  time  I  took 
it  because  I  saw  he  wanted  me  to. 

As  we  approached  the  Jersey  City  piers,  he 
seemed  to  shrink  and  grow  tired,  to  take  on  a 
good  ten  years  beyond  his  hale  and  hearty  age. 
With  every  glance  I  stole  at  him  a  lump  in  my 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  35 

throat  grew  bigger,  and  in  the  end,  bending 
forward,  I  laid  a  hand  on  his  knee. 

"Look  here,  Dunny,"  I  demanded,  not  look- 
ing at  him,  "do  you  mean  half  of  what  you  were 
saying  last  evening — or  the  hundredth  part? 
After  all,  there  '11  be  a  chance  to  fight  here  be- 
fore we  're  many  months  older.  If  you  just 
say  the  word,  old  fellow,  I  '11  be  with  you  to- 
night— and  hang  the  trip!" 

But  Dunny,  though  he  wrung  my  hand 
gratefully  and  choked  and  glared  out  of  the 
window,  would  hear  of  no  such  arrangement, 
repudiated  it,  indeed,  with  scorn. 

"No,  my  boy,"  he  declared.  "I  don't  say 
it  for  a  minute.  I  like  your  going.  I 
would  n't  give  a  tinker's  dam  for  you,  what- 
ever that  is,  if  you  didn't  want  to  do  some- 
thing for  those  fellows  over  there.  I  won't 
even  say  to  be  careful,  for  you  can't  if  you  do 
your  duty — only,  don't  you  be  too  all-fired 
foolhardy,  even  for  war  medals,  Dev." 

"Oh,  I  was  bom  to  be  hanged,  not  shot," 
I  assured  him,   almost   prophetically.     "I  '11 


36    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

take  care  of  myself,  and  I  '11  write  you  now 
and  then — " 

"No,  you  won't!"  he  snorted,  with  a  skep- 
ticism amply  justified  by  the  past.  "And  if 
you  did,  I  should  n't  answer ;  I  hate  letters,  al- 
ways did.  But  you  cable  me  once  a  fortnight 
to  let  me  know  you  're  living — and  send  an 
extra  cable  if  you  want  anything  on  earth!" 

The  taxi,  which  had  been  crawling,  came  to 
a  final  halt,  and  a  hungry  horde,  falling  on  my 
impedimenta,  lowered  them  from  the  driver's 
seat. 

*'No,  I  '11  not  come  on  board,  Dev,"  said 
my  guardian.  "I — I  could  n't  stand  it. 
Good-by,  my  dear  boy." 

We  clasped  hands  again;  then  I  felt  his 
arm  resting  on  my  shoulder,  and  flung  both 
of  mine  about  him  in  an  old-time,  boyish  hug. 

"Au  revoir,  Dunny.  Back  next  year,"  I 
shouted  cheerily  as  the  driver  threw  in  his 
clutch  and  the  car  glided  on  its  way. 

Preceded  by  various  porters,  I  threaded  my 
way  at  a  snail's  pace  through  the  dense  crowd 
of  waiting  passengers,  swarthy-faced  sons  of 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  37 

Italy,  apparently  bound  for  the  steerage. 
The  great  gray  bulk  of  the  Be  d'ltalia  loomed 
before  me,  floating  proudly  at  her  stern  the 
green,  white,  and  red  flag  blazoned  with  the 
Savoyard  shield. 

**Wave  while  they  let  you,"  I  apostrophized 
it,  saluting.  "When  we  get  outside  the  three- 
mile  limit  and  stop  courting  notice,  you  '11  not 
fly  long." 

At  the  gang-plank  I  was  halted,  and  I  pro- 
duced my  passport  and  exhibited  the  vise  of 
his  excellency,  the  Italian  consul-general  in 
New  York.  I  strolled  aboard,  was  assigned  to 
Cabin  D,  and  informed  by  my  steward  that 
there  were  in  all  but  five  first-class  passengers, 
a  piece  of  news  that  left  me  calm.  Stodgy  I 
may  be, — it  was  odd  how  that  term  of  Dunny's 
rankled, — but  I  confess  that  I  find  chance 
traveling  acquaintances  boring  and  avoid  them 
when  I  can.  Unlike  most  of  my  countrymen, 
I  suppose  I  am  not  gregarious,  though  I  dine 
and  week-end  punctiliously,  send  flowers  and 
leave  cards  at  decorous  intervals,  and  know 
people  all  the  way  from  New  York  to  Tokio. 


88     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

My  carefully  limited  baggage  looked  lonely 
in  my  cabin;  I  missed  the  paraphernalia  with 
which  one  usually  begins  a  trip.  Also,  as  I 
rummaged  through  two  bags  to  find  the  cap 
I  wanted,  I  longed  for  Peters,  my  faithful 
man,  who  could  be  backed  to  produce  any  de- 
sired thing  at  a  moment's  notice.  When 
bound  for  Flanders  or  the  Vosges,  however, 
one  must  be  a  Spartan.  I  found  what  I 
sought  at  last  and  went  on  deck. 

The  scene,  though  cheerful,  was  not  lacking 
in  wartime  features :  A  row  of  life-boats  hung 
invitingly  ready;  a  gun,  highly  dramatic  in 
appearance,  was  mounted  astern,  with  every 
air  of  meaning  business  should  the  kaiser  med- 
dle with  us  en  route.  Down  below,  the 
Italians,  talking,  gesticulating,  showing  their 
white  teeth  in  flashing,  boyish  smiles,  were 
being  herded  docilely  on  board,  while  at  in- 
tervals one  or  another  of  the  few  promenade- 
deck  passengers  appeared. 

The  first  of  these,  a  shrewd-faced,  nervous 
little  man,  borrowed  an  unneeded  match  of 
me  and  remarked  that  it  was  cold  weather  for 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  39 

spring.  The  next,  a  good-looking  young  for- 
eigner,— a  reservist,  I  surmised,  recalled  to  the 
Italian  colors  in  this  hour  of  his  country's 
need, — rather  harrowed  my  feelings  by  coming 
on  board  with  a  family  party,  gray-haired 
father,  anxious  mother,  slim  bride-like  wife, 
and  two  brothers  or  cousins,  all  making  pathetic 
pretense  at  good  cheer.  Soon  after  came  a 
third  man,  dark,  quiet,  watchful-looking,  and 
personable  enough,  although  his  shoes  were  a 
little  too  gleamingly  polished,  his  watch  and 
chain  a  little  too  luminously  golden,  the  color 
scheme  of  his  hose  and  tie  selected  with  al- 
most too  much  care. 

"This,"  I  reflected  resignedly,  "is  going  to 
be  a  ghastly  trip.  By  Jove,  here  comes  an- 
other!    Now  where  have  I  seen  her  before?" 

The  new  arrival,  as  indicated  by  the  pro- 
noun, was  a  woman;  though  why  one  should 
tempt  Providence  by  traveling  on  this  route 
at  this  juncture,  I  found  it  hard  to  guess. 
Standing  with  her  back  to  me,  enveloped  in 
a  coat  of  sealskin  with  a  broad  collar  of  darker 
fur,  well  gloved,  smartly  shod,  crowned  by  a 


40    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

fur  hat  with  a  gold  cockade,  she  made  a  de- 
lightful picture  as  she  rummaged  in  a  bag 
which  reposed  upon  a  steamer-chair,  and  which, 
thus  opened,  revealed  a  profusion  of  gold 
mountings,  bottles  and  brushes,  hand-chased 
and  initialed  in  an  opulent  way. 

There  was  a  haunting  familiarity  about  her. 
She  teased  my  memory  as  I  strolled  up  the 
deck.  Then,  snapping  the  bag  shut,  she 
turned  and  straightened,  and  I  recognized  the 
girl  to  whose  door  my  thief -chase  had  led  me 
at  the  St.  Ives. 

It  seemed  rather  a  coincidence,  my  meeting 
her  again. 

"I  shouldn't  mind  talking  to  you  on  this 
trip,"  I  reflected,  mollified.  "The  mischief  of 
it  is  you  '11  notice  me  about  as  much  as  you 
notice  the  ship's  stokers.  You  're  not  the  sort 
to  scrape  acquaintance,  or  else  I  miss  my 
shot!" 

I  did  not  miss  it.  So  much  was  instantly 
proved.  As  I  passed  her,  on  the  mere  chance 
that  she  might  elect  to  acknowledge  our  en- 
counter, I  let  my  gaze  impersonally  meet  hers. 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  41 

She  started  slightly.  Evidently  she  remem- 
bered. But  she  turned  toward  the  nearest 
door  without  a  bow. 

The  dark,  too-well-groomed  man  was 
emerging  as  she  advanced.  Instead  of  mov- 
ing back,  he  blocked  her  path,  looking — was 
it  appraisingly,  expectantly? — into  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  pause  while  she  waited  rather 
haughtily  for  passage ;  then  he  effaced  himself, 
and  she  disappeared. 

Striking  a  match  viciously,  I  lit  a  cigarette 
and  strolled  forward.  Either  the  fellow  had 
fancied  that  he  knew  her  or  he  had  behaved  in 
a  confoundedly  impertinent  way.  The  latter 
hypothesis  seemed,  on  the  whole,  the  more 
likely,  and  I  felt  a  lively  desire  to  drop  him 
over  the  rail. 

"But  I  don't  know  what  a  girl  of  your  looks 
expects,  I  'm  sure,"  I  grumbled,  "setting  off 
on  your  travels  with  no  chaperon  and  no  com- 
panion and  no  maid!  Where  are  your  father 
and  mother?  Where  are  your  brothers? 
Where  's  the  old  friend  of  the  family  who  dined 
with  you  last  night?     If  chaps  who  have  no 


42    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

right  to  walk  the  same  earth  with  you  get  in- 
solent, who  is  going  to  teach  them  their  place, 
and  who  is  going  to  take  care  of  you  if  a 
U-boat  pops  out  of  the  sea?  Oh,  well,  never 
mind.  It  is  n't  any  of  my  business.  But  just 
the  same  if  you  need  my  services,  I  think  I  '11 
tackle  the  job." 

Time  was  passing;  night  had  fallen.  Con- 
sulting my  watch,  I  found  that  it  was  seven 
o'clock.  I  had  been  aboard  more  than  two 
hours.  An  afternoon  sailing,  quotha  I  At 
this  rate  we  would  be  lucky  if  we  got  off  by 
dawn. 

The  dinner  gong,  a  welcome  diversion,  sum- 
moned us  below  to  lights  and  warmth.  At 
one  table  the  young  Italian  entertained  his 
relatives,  and  at  another  the  captain,  a  short, 
swart-faced,  taciturn  being,  had  grouped  his 
officers  and  various  officials  of  the  steamship 
company  at  a  farewell  feast.  The  little  sharp- 
faced  passenger  was  throned  elsewhere  in 
lonely  splendor,  but  when  I  selected  a  fourth 
table,  he  jumped  up,  crossed  over  and  installed 
himself  as  my  vis-a-vis.     Passing  me  the  salt, 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  43 

which  I  did  not  require,  he  supplied  with  it 
some  personal  data  of  which  I  felt  no  greater 
need.  His  name  was  McGuntrie,  he  an- 
nounced; he  was  sales  agent  for  the  famous 
Phillipson  Rifles  and  was  being  dispatched 
to  secure  a  gigantic  contract  on  the  other 
side. 

"And  if  inside  six  months  you  don't  see  three 
hundred  thousand  Italian  soldiers  carrying 
Pbilhpson's  best,"  he  informed  me,  "I  '11  take 
a  back  seat  and  let  young  Jim  Furman,  who 
thinks  I  'm  a  has-been  and  he  's  the  one  white 
hope,  begin  to  draw  my  pay.  You  can't  beat 
those  rifles.  When  the  boys  get  to  carrying 
them,  old  Francis  Joseph's  ghost  '11  weep. 
Pity,  ain't  it,  we  did  n't  get  on  board  by  noon?" 
he  digressed  sociably.  "I  could  Ve  found 
something  to  do  ashore  the  four  hours  I  've 
been  twiddling  my  thumbs  here;  and  I  guess 
you  could  too.  Hardest,  though,  on  our 
friends  the  newspaper  boys.  Did  you  know 
they  were  out  there  waiting  to  take  a  flashlight 
film?  Fact.  They  do  it  nowadays  every 
time  a  big  liner  leaves.     Then  if  we  sink,  all 


44    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

they  have  to  do  is  run  it,  with  ^Doomed  Ship 
Leaving  New  York  Harbor'  underneath." 

To  his  shocked  surprise  I  laughed  at  the  in- 
formation. My  appetite  was  unimpaired  as 
I  pursued  my  meal.  Trains  in  which  others 
ride  may  telescope  and  steamers  may  take  one's 
acquaintances  to  watery  graves,  but  to  normal 
people  the  chance  of  any  catastrophe  over- 
taking them  personally  must  always  seem  gra- 
tifyingly  far-fetched  and  vague. 

*'Think  it 's  funny,  do  you?"  my  new  friend 
reproached  me.  "Well,  I  don't;  and  neither 
did  the  folks  who  had  cabins  taken  and  who 
threw  them  up  last  week  when  they  heard  how 
the  San  Pietro  went  down  on  this  same  route. 
We  're  five  plumb  idiots — that 's  what  we  are 
— five  crazy  lunatics  I  I  'd  never  have  come 
a  step,  not  with  wild  horses  dragging  me  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  Jim  Furman  being  pretty 
near  popeyed,  looking  for  a  chance  to  cut  me 
out  and  sail.  We  've  got  fifteen  hundred  re- 
servists down-stairs,  and  a  cargo  of  contraband. 
What  do  you  know  about  that  as  a  prize  for 
a  submarine?" 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  45 

"Well,"  I  said  vaingloriously,  "I  can 
swim." 

My  eyes  were  wandering,  for  the  girl  in 
the  fur  coat  had  entered,  with  the  dark,  watch- 
ful-eyed man — was  it  pure  coincidence? — close 
behind.  The  steward  ushered  her  to  a  table; 
the  man  followed  at  her  heels.  I  dare  say  I 
glared.  I  know  my  muscles  stiffened.  The 
fellow  was  going  to  speak  to  her.  What  in 
blazes  did  he  mean  by  stalking  her  in  this  way? 

"Excuse  me,"  he  was  saying,  "but  have  n't 
we  met  before?" 

The  girl  straightened  into  rigidness,  looking 
him  over.  Her  manner  was  haughty,  her 
ruddy  head  poised  stiffly,  as  she  answered  in  a 
cold  tone: 

"No." 

He  was  watching  her  keenly. 

"My  name  's  John  Van  Blarcom,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

Again  she  gave  him  that  sweeping  glance. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said  indifferently. 
"I  have  not  seen  you  before." 

He  nodded  curtly. 


46     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"My  mistake,"  he  admitted.  "I  thought  I 
knew  you,"  and  turning  from  her,  he  sat  down 
at  the  one  table  still  unoccupied. 

"So  his  name's  Van  Blarcom,"  whispered 
my  ubiquitous  neighbor.  "And  the  Italian 
chap  over  there  is  Pietro  Ricci.  The  steward 
told  me  so.  And  the  captain's  name  is  Cec- 
chi;  get  it?  And  I  know  your  name  too,  Mr. 
Bayne,"  he  added  with  a  grin.  "The  steward 
did  n't  know  what  was  taking  you  over,  but  I 
guess  I  've  got  your  number  all  right.  Say, 
ain't  you  a  flying  man  or  else  one  of  the  Ameri- 
can-Ambulance boys?" 

I  mustered  the  feeble  parry  that  I  had 
stopped  being  a  boy  of  any  sort  some  time  ago. 
Then  lest  he  wring  from  me  my  age,  birth- 
place, and  the  amount  of  my  income  tax,  I 
made  an  end  of  my  meal. 

On  deck  again  I  wondered  at  my  irritation, 
my  sense  of  restlessness.  The  little  salesman 
was  not  responsible,  though  he  had  fretted  me 
like  a  buzzing  fly.  It  was  rather  that  I  had 
taken  an  intense  dislike  to  the  man  calling  him- 
self Van  Blarcom;  that  the  girl,  despite  her 


ON  THE  RE  D'lTALIA  47 

haughtiness,  had  somehow  given  me  an  im- 
pression of  mieasiness — of  fear  ahnost — as  she 
saw  him  approach  and  heard  him  speak;  and 
above  all,  that  I  should  have  Hked  to  flay  alive 
the  person  or  persons  who  had  let  her  sail  un- 
accompanied for  a  zone  which  at  this  moment 
was  the  danger  point  of  the  seas. 

My  matter-of-fact,  conservatively  ordered 
life  had  been  given  a  crazy  twist  at  the  St. 
Ives.  As  an  aftermath  of  that  episode  I  was 
probably  scenting  mysteries  where  there  were 
none.  Nevertheless,  I  wondered — though  I 
called  myself  a  fool  for  it — if  any  more  queer 
things  would  happen  before  this  ship  on  which 
we  five  bold  voyageurs  were  confined  should 
reach  the  other  side. 

They  did. 


CHAPTER  IV 


"extra" 


TOWARD  nine  o'clock  to  my  relief  it  be- 
came obvious  that  the  Re  d'ltalia  was 
really  going  to  sail  at  last.  The  first  and  sec- 
ond whistles,  sounding  raucously,  sent  the  com- 
pany officials  and  the  family  of  the  young  offi- 
cer of  reserves  ashore.  The  plank  was  low- 
ered; between  the  ship  and  the  looming  pier  a 
thread  of  black  water  appeared  and  grew;  a 
flash  and  an  explosion  indicated  that  the  possi- 
bly doomed  liner  had  been  filmed  according  to 
schedule.  "Evviva  Vltalia!"  yelled  the  re- 
turning braves  in  the  steerage — a  very  decent 
set  of  fellows,  it  struck  me,  to  leave  so  cheer- 
fully their  vocations  of  teamster,  waiter,  fruit 
vender,  and  the  like,  and  go,  unforced,  to  wear 
the  gray-green  coats  of  Italy,  the  short  feath- 
ers of  the  mountain  climbers,  the  bersagliere's 

48 


"EXTRA"  49 

bunch  of  plumes,  and  to  stand  against  their 
hereditary  foes  the  Austrians,  up  in  the  snowy 
Alps. 

The  details  of  departure  were  an  old  tale  to 
me.  As  we  swimg  farther  and  farther  out,  I 
turned  to  a  newspaper,  a  twentieth  extra  prob- 
ably, which  I  had  heard  a  newsboy  crying  along 
the  dock  a  little  earlier,  and  had  bribed  a 
steward  to  secure.  Moon  and  stars  were  lack- 
ing to-night,  but  the  deck  lights  were  good 
reading-lamps.  Moving  up  the  rail  to  one  of 
them,  I  investigated  the  world's  affairs. 

From  the  first  sheet  the  usual  staring  head- 
lines leaped  at  me.  There  were  the  inevitable 
peace  rumor,  the  double  denial,  the  eternal 
bulletin  of  a  trench  taken  here,  a  hill  recaptured 
there.  A  sensational  rumor  was  exploited  to 
the  effect  that  Franz  von  Blenheim,  one  of  the 
star  secret  agents  of  the  German  Empire,  was 
at  present  incognito  at  Washington,  having 
spent  the  past  month  in  putting  his  finger  in 
the  Mexican  pie  much  to  our  disadvantage. 
On  the  last  column  of  the  page  was  the  photo- 
graph of  a  distinguished-looking  young  man  in 


60    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

uniform,  with  an  announcement  that  promised 
some  interest,  I  thought. 

"War  Scandal  Bursts  in  France,"  "Scion  of 
Oldest  Noblesse  Implicated,"  "Duke  Mysteri- 
ously Missing,"  I  read  in  the  diminishing  de- 
grees of  the  scare-head  type.  Then  came  the 
picture,  with  a  mien  attractively  debonair,  a 
pleasantly  smiling  mouth,  and  a  sympathetic 
pair  of  eyes,  and  in  due  course,  the  tale.  I 
clutched  at  the  flapping  ends  of  the  paper  and 
read  on: 

Of  all  the  scandals  to  which  the  present  war  has 
given  birth,  none  has  stirred  France  more  pro- 
foundly than  that  implicating  Jean-Herve-Marie- 
Olivier,  Count  of  Druyes,  Marquis  of  Beuil  and 
Santenay,  and  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour.  This 
young  nobleman,  head  of  a  family  that  has  played  its 
part  in  French  history  since  the  days  of  the  North- 
men and  the  crusaders,  bears  in  his  veins  the  bluest 
blood  of  the  old  regime,  and  numbers  among  his 
ancestors  no  fewer  than  seven  marshals  and  five  con- 
stables of  France. 

A  noted  figure  not  only  by  his  birth,  his  wealth, 
and  his  various  historic  chateaux,  but  also  by  his 
sporting  proclivities,  his  daring  automobile  racing, 


"EXTRA"  61 

his  marvelous  fencing,  and  his  spectacular  hunting 
trips,  the  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour  has  long  been  in 
addition  an  amateur  aviator  of  considerable  fame, 
and  it  was  to  the  French  Flying  Corps  that  he  was 
attached  when  hostilities  began.  Here  he  distin- 
guished himself  from  the  first  by  his  coolness,  his  ex- 
traordinary resource,  and  his  utter  contempt  for 
danger,  and  became  one  of  the  idols  of  the  French 
army  and  a  proverb  for  success  and  audacity,  be- 
sides attaining  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant,  gaining, 
after  his  famous  night  flight  across  Mulhausen  for 
bomb-dropping  purposes,  the  affectionate  sobriquet 
of  the  Firefly  of  France,  and  winning  in  rapid  suc- 
cession the  Military  Medal,  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor,  and  the  Cross  of  War  with  palms. 

According  to  rumor,  the  duke  was  lately  intrusted 
with  a  mission  of  exceptional  peril,  involving  a  flight 
into  hostile  territory  and  the  capture  of  certain 
photographs  of  defenses  much  needed  for  the  plans 
of  the  supreme  command.  With  his  wonted  bril- 
liancy, he  is  said  to  have  accomplished  the  errand  and 
to  have  returned  in  safety  as  far  as  the  French  lines. 
Here,  however,  we  enter  the  realm  of  conjecture. 
The  duke  has  disappeared;  the  plans  he  bore  have 
never  reached  the  generalissimo;  and  rumor  per- 
sistently declares  that  at  some  point  upon  his  re- 
turn journey  he  was  intercepted  by  German  agents 


52    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

and  induced  by  bribes  or  coercion  to  deliver  up  his 
spoils.  By  one  version  he  was  later  captured  and 
summarily  executed  by  the  French ;  while  his  friends, 
denying  this,  pin  their  hopes  to  his  death  at  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  as  offering  the  best  outcome  of 
the  unsavory  event. 

The  family  of  the  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour  has 
been  noted  in  the  past  for  its  pronouncedly  Royalist 
tendencies,  the  attitude  of  his  father  and  grandfather 
toward  the  Republic  having  been  hostile  in  the  ex- 
treme. It  is  believed  that  this  fact  may  have  its 
significance  in  the  present  episode.  The  occurrence 
is  of  special  interest  to  the  United  States  in  view  of 
the  recent  (Continued  on  Page  Three) 

Before  proceeding,  I  glanced  at  the  pictured 
face.  The  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour  looked 
back  at  me  with  cool,  clear  eyes,  smiling  half 
aloofly,  a  little  scornfully,  as  in  the  presence  of 
danger  the  true  Frenchman  is  apt  to  smile. 

"I  don't  think,  Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier," 
I  reflected,  "that  you  ever  talked  to  the  Ger- 
mans except  with  bombs.  They  probably  got 
you,  poor  chap,  and  you  're  lying  buried  some- 
where while  the  gossips  make  a  holiday  of  the 
fact  that  you  don't  come  home.     Confound 


"EXTRA"  58 

'current  rumors'  anyhow,  and  yellow  papers 
too!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  low  contralto 
voice. 

The  girl  in  the  fur  coat  was  standing  at  my 
shoulder.  I  turned,  lifting  my  cap,  wondering 
what  under  heaven  she  could  want.  I  was 
not  much  pleased  to  tell  the  truth;  a  goddess 
should  n't  step  from  her  pedestal  to  chat  with 
strangers.  Then  suddenly  I  recognized  a  dis- 
tinct oddness  in  her  air. 

"Would  you  lend  me  your  paper,"  she  was 
asking,  "for  just  a  moment?  I  haven't  seen 
one  since  morning;  the  evening  editions  were 
not  out  when  I  came  on  board." 

Her  manner  was  proud,  spirited,  gracious; 
she  even  smiled;  but  she  was  frightened.  I 
could  read  it  in  her  slight  pallor,  in  the  quick- 
ening of  her  breath. 

My  extra  I  What  was  there  in  the  day's 
news  that  could  upset  her?  I  was  nonplussed, 
but  of  course  I  at  once  extended  the 
sheet. 

"Certainly  1"  I  replied  politely.     "Pray  keep 


54    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

it."  Lifting  my  cap  a  second  time,  I  turned 
to  go. 

Her  fingers  touched  my  arm. 

"Wait!  Please  wait!"  she  was  urging. 
There  was  a  half-imperious,  half-appealing 
note  in  her  hushed  voice. 

I  stared. 

"I  'm  afraid,"  I  said  blankly,  "that  I  don't 
quite — " 

"Some  one  may  suspect.  Some  one  may 
come,"  urged  this  most  astonishing  young 
woman.  "Don't  you  see  that — that  I  'm  trust- 
ing you  to  help  me?    Won't  you  stay?" 

Wondering  if  I  by  any  chance  looked  as 
stunned  as  I  felt,  I  bowed  formally,  faced 
about,  and  waited,  both  arms  on  the  rail.  My 
ideas  as  to  my  companion  had  been  revolution- 
ized in  sixty  seconds.  I  had  believed  her  a 
girl  with  whom  I  might  have  grown  up,  a  girl 
whose  brother  and  cousins  I  had  probably 
known  at  college,  a  girl  that  I  might  have  met 
at  a  friend's  dinner  or  at  the  opera  or  on  a 
country-club  porch  if  I  had  had  my  luck  with 
me.    Now  what  was  I  to  think  her — an  es- 


'Can't  you  see  that— that  I'm  trusting  you  to  help  me?" 


•  •  •     •  •'  • 


"EXTRA"  '55 

caped  lunatic  or  something  more  accountable 
and  therefore  worse?  If  I  detest  anything,  it 
is  the  unconventional,  the  stagy,  the  mysteri- 
ous. Setting  my  teeth,  I  resolved  to  wait  un- 
til she  concluded  her  researches;  after  that, 
pohtely  but  firmly,  I  would  depart. 

And  then,  beside  me,  the  paper  rustled.  I 
heard  a  little  gasp,  a  tiny  low-drawn  sigh. 
Stealing  a  glance  down,  I  saw  the  girl's  face 
shining  whitely  in  the  deck  light.  Her  black 
lashes  fringed  her  cheeks  as  her  head  bent  back- 
ward; her  eyes  were  as  dark  as  the  water  we 
were  slipping  through.  I  had  no  idea  of 
speaking,  and  yet  I  did  speak. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  heard  myself  saying,  "that 
you  have  had  bad  news." 

She  was  struggling  for  self-control,  but  her 
voice  wavered. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed;  "I  am  afraid  I  have." 

"If  there  is  anything  I  can  do — "  I  was  cor- 
rect, but  reluctant.  How  I  would  bless  her 
if  she  would  go  away! 

But  obviously  she  did  not  intend  to.  Quite 
the  contrary  1 


56    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"There  is  something,"  she  was  murmuring, 
"that  would  help  me  very  much." 

There,  I  had  done  it!  I  was  an  ass  of  the 
common  or  garden  variety,  who  first  resolved 
to  keep  out  of  a  queer  business  and  then,  be- 
cause a  girl  looked  bothered,  plunged  into  it 
up  to  my  ears.  I  succeeded  in  hiding  my  feel- 
ings, in  looking  wooden. 

"Please  tell  me,"  I  responded,  "what  it  is." 

"But — I  can't  explain  it."  Her  gloved 
hands  tightened  on  the  railing.  "And  if  I 
ask  without  explaining,  it  will  seem  so — so 
strange." 

"Doubtless,"  I  reflected  grimly.  But  I  had 
to  see  the  thing  through  now.  "That  does  n't 
matter  at  all,"  I  assured  her  civilly  through 
clenched  teeth. 

She  came  closer — so  close  that  her  fur  coat 
brushed  me,  and  her  breath  touched  my  cheek ; 
her  eyes,  like  gray  stars  now  that  they  were 
less  anxious,  went  to  my  head  a  little,  I  sup- 
pose. Oh,  yes,  she  was  lovely.  Of  course 
that  was  a  factor.  If  she  had  been  past  her 
first  youth  and  skimpy  as  to  hair,  and  dowdy,  I 


"EXTRA"  57 

don't  pretend  that  I  should  ever  have  mixed 
myself  up  in  the  preposterous  coil. 

"This  paper,"  she  whispered,  holding  out  the 
sheet,  "has  something  in  it.  It  is  not  about 
me ;  it  is  not  even  true.  But  if  it  stays  aboard 
the  ship, — if  some  one  sees  it,  it  may  make 
trouble.  Oh,  you  see  how  it  sounds;  I  knew 
you  would  think  me  mad!" 

"Not  in  the  least."  What  an  absurd  rig- 
marole she  was  uttering!  Yet  such  was  the 
spell  of  her  eyes,  her  voice,  her  nearness  that  I 
merely  felt  like  saying,  "Tell  me  some  more." 

"I  can't  destroy  it  myself,"  she  went  on  anx- 
iously. "He — they — ^must  n't  see  me  do  any- 
thing that  might  lead  them  to — to  guess.  But 
no  one  will  think  of  you,  nobody  will  be  watch- 
ing you;  so  by  and  by  will  you  weight  the 
paper  with  something  heavy  and  drop  it  across 
the  rail?" 

My  head  was  whirling,  but  a  graven  image 
might  have  envied  me  my  impassivity.  I 
bowed.  "I  shall  be  delighted,"  I  announced 
banally,  "to  do  as  you  say." 

Her  face  flushed  to  a  warm  wild-rose  tint 


58     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

as  she  heard  me  promise  it,  and  her  red  lips, 
parting,  took  on  a  tremulous  smile. 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured  in  frank  grati- 
tude. "I  thought — I  knew  you  would  help 
me!"     Then  she  was  gone. 

My  trance  broke.  I  woke  to  hear  myself 
softly  swearing.  I  consigned  myself  to  my 
proper  home,  an  asylum;  I  wished  the  girl  at 
Timbuktu,  Kamchatka,  Land's  End — any- 
where except  on  this  ship.  As  I  had  told  the 
agent  of  the  Phillipson  Rifles,  I  am  no  boy. 
One  can  scarcely  knock  about  the  world  for 
thirty  years  without  gaining  some  of  its  wis- 
dom; and  of  all  the  appropriate  truisms  I 
spared  myself  not  one. 

Resentfully  I  reminded  myself  that  mys- 
teries were  suspicious,  that  honest  people  sel- 
dom had  need  of  secrecy,  that  idiots  who,  like 
me,  consented  to  act  blindfold  would  probably 
repent  their  blindness  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  be- 
fore long.  But  what  use  were  these  sage  re- 
flections? I  had  given  my  word  to  her.  I 
was  in  for  the  consequences,  however  unpleas- 
ant they  proved. 


"EXTRA"  59 

Without  further  mental  parley  I  went  down 
to  my  cabin,  where  I  routed  out  from  among 
my  traps  a  bronze  paper-weight  as  heavy  as 
lead.  Wrapping  the  mysterious  sheet  about 
it,  I  brought  the  package  back  on  deck.  There 
was  not  a  soul  in  sight ;  it  was  a  propitious  hour. 

To  right  and  to  left  the  coast  lights  were 
slipping  past,  making  golden  paths  on  the  black 
water  as  our  tug  pulled  us  out  to  sea.  The 
reservists  down  below  were  singing  "Va  fuori, 
o  strartierr  I  dropped  my  package  over- 
board, watched  it  vanish,  and  turned  to  behold 
the  sphinx-like  Van  Blarcom,  sprung  up  as  if 
by  magic,  regarding  me  placidly  from  the  shel- 
ter of  the  smoking-room  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

ME.  VAN   BLAECOM,   U.   S.   A. 

FOR  a  trip  that  had  begun  with  such  rich 
promise  of  the  unusual,  my  voyage  on 
the  Re  d'ltalia  proved  a  gratifying  anticlimax 
during  its  first  few  days.  The  weather  was 
bad.  We  plowed  forward  monotonously, 
flagless,  running  between  dark-gray  water  and 
a  lowering,  leaden  sky.  Screws  throbbed, 
timbers  creaked,  and  dishes  crashed  as  the  Gulf 
Stream  took  us,  and  great  waves  reared  them- 
selves round  us  like  mjrriads  of  threatening 
Alps. 

After  that  first  night  the  girl  kept  discreetly 
to  her  stateroom.  I  was  relieved;  but  I 
thought  of  her  a  good  deal.  I  had  little  else 
to  do.  Pacing  a  drunken  deck  and  smoking, 
I  wove  unsatisfactory  theories,  asking  myself 
what  was  her  need  of  secrecy,  what  the  item  she 
wanted  hidden,  what  the  errand  that  had  made 

60 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.    61 

her  sail  on  this  vessel  a  week  after  the  spec- 
tacular torpedoing  of  a  sister-ship?  Did  she 
know  this  Van  Blarcom  or  did  she  merely  dread 
any  notice?  And  above  all,  who  was  the  man 
and  had  he  been  watching  when  I  tossed  that 
wretched  extra  across  the  rail? 

I  saw  something  of  him,  of  course,  as  time 
went  on.  Naturally  we  four  bold  spirits,  the 
ubiquitous  McGuntrie,  Van  Blarcom,  the 
young  reservist  Pietro  Ricci, — a  very  good 
sort  of  fellow, — and  I  were  herded  together 
beyond  escape.  Also,  a  foursome  at  bridge 
seemed  divinely  indicated  by  our  number,  and 
to  avert  a  sheer  paralysis  of  ennui  we  formed 
the  habit  of  winning  each  other's  money  at  that 
game. 

As  we  played  I  studied  Van  Blarcom,  but 
without  results.  It  was  ruffling;  I  should  have 
absorbed  in  so  much  intercourse  a  fairly  defi- 
nite impression  of  his  personality,  profession, 
and  social  grade.  But  he  was  baffling;  reti- 
cent, but  self-assured,  authoritative  even,  and, 
in  a  quiet  way,  watchful.  He  smoked  a  good 
oigar,  mixed  a  good  drink,  seemed  used  to 


62     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

travel,  but  produced  a  coarse-grained  effect, 
made  grammatical  errors,  and  on  the  whole  was 
a  person  from  whom,  once  ashore,  I  should 
flee. 

At  six  o'clock  on  the  seventh  night  out  our 
voyage  entered  its  second  lap;  all  the  electric 
lights  were  simultaneously  extinguished  as  we 
entered  the  danger  zone.  We  made  a  sketchy 
toilet  by  means  of  tapers,  groped  like  wander- 
ing ghosts  down  a  dim  corridor,  and  dined  by 
the  faint  rays  of  candles  thrust  into  bottles  and 
placed  at  intervals  along  the  festive  board.  I 
went  on  deck  afterward  to  find  the  ship  plung- 
ing through  blackness  on  forced  draft,  with 
port-holes  shrouded  and  with  not  even  a  rid- 
ing-light. If  not  in  Davy  Jones's  locker  by 
that  time,  we  should  reach  Gibraltar  the  next 
evening;  afterward  we  should  head  for  Naples, 
a  two  days'  trip. 

The  following  morning  found  our  stormy 
weather  over.  The  sea  through  which  we  were 
speeding  had  a  magic  color,  the  dark,  rich, 
Mediterranean  blue.  Ascending  late,  I  saw 
gulls  flying  round  us  and  seaweed  drifting  by, 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.     63 

and  Mr.  McGuntrie  in  a  state  of  nerves,  with  a 
life  belt  about  him,  walking  wildly  to  and  fro. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  greeted  me,  "never 
again  for  mine!  If  I  ever  see  the  end  of  this 
trip, — if  you  call  it  a  trip ;  I  call  it  merry  hades, 
— beheve  me,  I  '11  sell  something  hereafter  that 
I  can  sell  on  land.  I  'm  a  crackajack  of  a 
salesman,  if  I  do  say  it  myself.  Once  I  got 
started  talking  I  could  get  a  man  down  below 
to  buy  a  hot  toddy  and  a  set  of  flannels — and 
I  wish  I  'd  gone  down  there  and  done  it  be- 
fore I  ever  saw  this  boat." 

Unmoved,  I  leaned  on  the  raihng  and 
watched  the  blue  swells  break.  McGuntrie 
took  a  turn  or  two.  In  the  ship's  library  he 
had  discovered  a  manual  entitled  "How  to 
Swim,"  and  he  was  now  attempting  between 
laments  to  memorize  its  salient  points. 

"  *The  first  essay  is  best  made  in  water  of  not 
less  than  fifty  degrees  Fahrenheit,  and  not 
more  than  four  feet  in  depth,' "  he  gabbled, 
and  then  broke  off  to  gaze  at  the  sea  about  us, 
chilly  in  temperature,  and  countless  fathoms 
deep.     "Oh,  what's  the  use?     What  the  blue 


64    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

blazes  does  it  matter?"  he  cried  hysterically. 
"I  tell  you  that  U-boat  that  sank  the  San 
Pietro  is  laying  for  us.  In  about  an  hour 
you  '11  see  a  periscope  bob  up  out  there.  Then 
we  '11  send  out  an  S.O.S.,  and  the  next  thing 
you  know  we  '11  sink  with  all  on  board." 

We  had  as  yet  escaped  this  doom  when  to- 
ward six  o'clock  we  approached  Gibraltar,  run- 
ning beneath  a  crimson  sunset  and  between 
misty  purple  shores.  On  one  hand  lay  Africa, 
on  the  other  the  Moorish  country,  both 
shrouded  in  a  soft  haze  and  edged  with  snowy 
foam.  Down  below  the  soldiers  of  Italy  were 
singing.  A  merchantman  of  belligerent  na- 
tionality, our  ship  proudly  flew  its  flag  again. 
Indeed,  had  it  failed  to  do  so,  the  British  pa- 
trol-boats would  long  since  have  known  the 
reason  why. 

It  was  growing  dark  when  I  turned  to  find 
Van  Blarcom  at  my  elbow. 

"I  didn't  see  you,"  I  commented  rather 
shortly.  I  don't  like  people  to  creep  up  be- 
side me  like  cats. 

"No,"  he  responded.     "I  've  been  waiting 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.    65 

quite  a  while.  I  did  n't  want  to  disturb  you, 
but  the  fact  is  I  'd  like  a  word  with  you,  Mr. 
Bayne." 

I  eyed  him  with  curiosity.  He  was  in- 
scrutable, this  quiet,  alert,  efficient-looking 
man.  Take,  for  instance,  his  present  manner, 
half  self-assured,  half  respectfully  apologetic — 
what  grade  in  life  did  it  fit? 

"Well,  here  I  am,"  I  said  briefly  as  I  struck 
a  match. 

"I  Ve  thought  it  over  a  good  bit,'*  he  went 
on,  apparently  in  self -justification.  "I  don't 
know  how  you  will  take  it,  but  I  '11  chance  it 
just  the  same.  If  I  don't  give  you  a  hint,  you 
don't  get  a  square  deal.  That 's  my  attitude. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  Franz  von  Blenheim,  Mr. 
Bayne?" 

"Eh?"  The  question  seemed  distinctly  ir- 
relevant— ^and  yet  where  had  I  heard  that 
name,  not  very  long  ago? 

"The  German  secret-service  agent.  The 
best  in  the  world,  they  say."  A  sort  of  reluc- 
tant admiration  showed  in  Van  Blarcom's  face. 
"There  isn't  any  one  that  can  get  him;  he 


e6    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

does  what  he  wants,  goes  where  he  likes — the 
United  States,  England,  France,  Russia — and 
always  gets  away  safe.  You  'd  think  he  was 
a  conjurer  to  read  what  he  does  sometimes. 
A  whole  country  will  be  looking  for  him,  and 
he  takes  some  one  else's  passport,  puts  on  a 
disguise,  and  good-by — he  's  gone !  That 's 
Franz  von  Blenheim.  No ;  that 's  just  an  out- 
line of  him.  And  on  pretty  good  authority, 
he  's  in  Washington  now." 

Mr.  Van  Blarcom,  I  reflected,  was  surely 
coming  out  of  his  shell ;  this  was  quite  a  mono- 
logue with  which  he  was  favoring  me.  It  was 
dark  now;  our  lights  were  flaring.  Being  in 
a  friendly  port's  shelter,  we  burned  electricity 
to-night. 

"You  seem  to  know  a  whole  lot  about  this 
fellow,"  I  remarked  idly  in  the  pause. 

"Yes,  I  do."  He  smiled  a  trifle  grimly. 
"In  fact,  I  once  came  near  getting  him;  it 
would  have  made  my  fortune,  too.  But  he 
slipped  through  my  fingers  at  the  last  minute, 
and  if  I  ever —  You  see,  I  'm  in  the  secret 
service  myself,  Mr.  Bayne." 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.     67 

I  turned  to  stare  at  him. 

"The  United  States  service?"  I  asked. 

"Yes." 

I  nodded.  All  that  had  puzzled  me  was 
fairly  clear  in  this  new  light.  Not  at  all  the 
type  of  the  star  agents,  those  marvelous  be- 
ings who  figure  so  romantically  in  fiction  and 
on  the  boards,  he  was  yet,  I  fancied,  a  good 
example  of  the  ruck  of  his  profession,  those 
who  did  the  every-day  detective  work  which  in 
such  a  business  must  be  done.  But — Franz 
von  Blenheim  ?  What  was  my  association  with 
the  name?  Then  I  recalled  that  in  the  extra 
I  had  read  as  we  left  harbor  there  had  been 
some  account  of  the  man's  activities  in  Mexico. 

"What  I  wanted  to  say  was  this,"  Van 
Blarcom  continued  in  his  usual  manner — ^the 
manner  that  I  now  recognized  to  be  a  subtler 
form  of  the  policeman's,  respectful  to  those  he 
held  for  law-abiding,  alert  and  watchful  to 
detect  gentry  of  another  kind.  "This  line 
we  're  traveling  on  now  is  one  the  spies  use 
quite  a  bit.  They  used  to  go  to  London 
straight  or  else  to  Bordeaux  and  Paris;  but  the 


68    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

English  and  French  got  a  pretty  strict  watch 
going,  and  now  it 's  easier  for  them  to  slip  into 
France  through  Italy,  by  Modane.  They  sail 
for  Naples  mostly,  do  you  see?  And — you 
won't  repeat  this? — it's  fairly  sure  that  when 
Franz  von  Blenheim  sends  his  government  a 
report  of  what  he  's  done  in  Mexico  against 
us,  he  '11  send  it  by  an  agent  who  travels  on 
this  line  and  lands  in  Italy  and  then  slips  into 
Germany  by  way  of  Switzerland." 

We  were  drifting  slowly  into  the  harbor  of 
Gibraltar,  the  rock  looming  over  us  through 
the  blackness,  a  gigantic  mountain,  a  mass  of 
tiered  and  serried  lights.  Search-lights,  too, 
shot  out  like  swords,  focused  on  us,  and  swept 
us  as  we  crept  forward  between  dimly  visible, 
anchored  craft.  The  throbbing  of  our  engines 
ceased.  A  launch  chugged  toward  us,  bring- 
ing the  officers  of  the  port.  I  watched,  pleased 
with  the  scene,  and  rather  taken  with  my  com- 
panion's discourse.  It  was  not  unhke  a  dime 
novel  of  my  youth. 

"Do  you  mean  you  've  been  sent  on  this  line 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.     69 

to  watch  for  one  of  Blenheim's  agents?"  I 
inquired. 

"No.  I  'm  sent  for  some  work  on  the  other 
side — and  I  'm  not  teUing  you  what  it  is, 
either,"  he  rejoined.  "What  I  meant  was  that 
a  man  has  to  be  careful,  traveling  on  these 
ships.  They  watch  close.  They  have  to. 
Haven't  you  noticed  that  whenever  two  or 
three  of  us  get  to  talking,  a  steward  comes 
snooping  round?  Well,  I  suppose  you 
wouldn't,  it  not  being  your  business;  but  I 
have.  We're  watched  all  the  time;  and  if 
we  're  wise,  we  '11  mind  our  step.  Take  you, 
for  instance.  You're  a  good  American,  eh? 
And  yet  some  spy  might  fool  you  with  a  cute 
story  and  get  your  help  and  maybe  play  you 
for  a  sucker  on  the  other  side.  I  saw  that  hap- 
pen once.  It  was  a  nice  young  chap,  and  a 
pretty  girl  fooled  him — got  him  into  a  peck  of 
trouble.  What  you  want  to  remember  is  that 
good  spies  never  seem  hke  spies." 

If  I  looked  as  I  felt  just  then,  the  search- 
light that  swept  me  must  have  startled  him. 


70    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

I  could  feel  my  face  flushing,  my  hands  clench- 
ing as  I  caught  his  drift.     I  swung  round. 

"What 's  this  about?  "  I  demanded  sharply. 
But  I  knew. 

"Well,"  said  the  secret-service  man  dis- 
creetly, "I  saw  something  pretty  funny  the 
first  night  out,  Mr.  Bayne.  It  was  safe 
enough  with  me;  I  can  tell  a  gentleman  from 
a  spy;  but  if  an  officer  had  seen  it,  the  thing 
would  n't  have  been  a  joke.  Suppose  we  put 
it  this  way.  There  's  a  person  on  board  I 
think  I  know.  I  have  n't  got  the  goods,  I  '11 
own,  but  I  don't  often  make  mistakes.  My 
advice  to  you,  sir,  is  to  steer  clear  of  strangers. 
And  if  I  were  you,  I — " 

"That'll  do,  thanks!"  I  cut  him  short. 
"I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I  don't  say  your 
motives  are  bad, — ^you  may  think  this  is  a 
favor, — but  I  call  it  a  confounded  piece  of 
meddling,  and  I  '11  trouble  you  to  let  it  end." 

He  looked  hurt  and  indignant. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  remonstrated,  "what 
have  I  done  but  give  you  a  friendly  hint  not 
to  get  in  bad?    Btit  maybe  I  was  too  vague 


MR.  VAN  BLARCOM,  U.  S.  A.    71 

ajbout  it;  you  just  listen  to  a  few  facts.  I  '11 
tell  you  who  that  young  lady  is  and  who  her 
people  are  and  what  she  wants  on  the  other 
side—" 

"No,  you  won't!"  I  declared.  My  voice 
sounded  savage.  I  was  recalling  how  she  had 
begged  the  extra  of  me,  and  how  it  had  con- 
tained a  full  account  of  Franz  von  Blenheim, 
the  kaiser's  man.  "The  young  lady's  name 
arid  affairs  are  no  concern  of  mine.  If  you 
know  anything  you  can  keep  it  to  yourself." 

As  we  glared  at  each  other  like  two  hostile 
catamounts,  a  steward  reheved  the  tension  by 
running  toward  us  down  the  deck. 

'^Signori,  un  momento,  per  piacereT  he 
called  as  he  came.  The  British  officers  were 
on  board,  he  forthwith  informed  us,  and  were 
demanding,  in  accordance  with  the  martial  law 
now  reigning  at  Gibraltar,  a  sight  of  each  pas- 
senger and  his  passport  before  the  ship  should 
proceed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THUMBSCREWS 

THE  salon  of  conversation,  as  that  mir- 
rored, gilded,  and  highly  varnished  apart- 
ment was  grandiloquently  termed,  had  been 
the  spot  chosen  for  our  presumably  not  very 
terrible  ordeal.  Things  were  well  under  way. 
At  a  desk  in  the  corner  one  officer  was  jotting 
down  notes  as  to  the  clearance  papers  and  the 
cargo;  while  at  a  table  in  the  foreground  sat 
his  comrade,  in  a  lieutenant's  uniform,  with  the 
captain  of  the  Re  d'ltalia  at  his  right,  swart- 
faced  and  silent,  and  the  list  of  the  passengers 
lying  before  the  pair. 

As  I  entered  a  few  moments  behind  Van 
Blarcom,  I  perceived  that  the  interrogation  had 
already  run  a  partial  course.  Pietro  Ricci,  the 
reservist,  had,  no  doubt,  emerged  with  flying 

colors  and  now  stood  against  the  wall  beside  the 

72 


THUMBSCREWS  73 

doughty  agent  of  the  Phillipson  Rifles,  who  had 
apparently  satisfied  his  inquisitor,  too.  Near 
the  door  a  group  of  stewards  had  clustered  to 
watch  with  interest ;  and  as  I  stood  waiting,  the 
girl  in  furs  came  in. 

I  put  myself  a  hypothetical  query. 

"If  a  girl,"  I  thought,  "materializes  from 
the  void,  asks  an  incriminating  favor,  and  van- 
ishes, does  that  put  one  on  bowing  terms  with 
her  when  one  meets  her  again?"  Evidently 
it  did,  for  she  smiled  brightly  and  graciously 
and  bent  her  ruddy  head.  But  she  was  pale, 
I  noticed  critically;  there  was  apprehension 
in  her  eyes.  Was  n't  it  odd  that  the  prospect 
of  a  few  simple  questions  from  an  officer  should 
disconcert  her  when  she  had  possessed  the  cour- 
age, or  the  foolhardiness,  to  sail  on  this  line  at 
this  time? 

Really  I  could  not  deny  that  all  I  had  seen 
of  her  was  most  suspicious.  For  aught  I  knew, 
the  secret-service  man  might  be  absolutely 
right.  I  had  treated  him  outrageously.  I 
owed  him  an  apology,  doubtless.  But  I  still 
felt  furious  with  him,  and  when  she  looked 


74     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

anxiously  at  those  officers,  I  felt  furious  with 
them  too. 

Van  Blarcom,  his  brief  questioning  ended, 
was  turning  from  the  table.  As  he  passed,  I 
made  a  point  of  smiling  companionably  at  the 
girl. 

"Now  for  the  rack,  the  cord,  and  the  thumb- 
screws," I  murmured  to  her,  making  way. 

The  lieutenant  was  a  tall,  lean,  muscular 
young  man  with  a  shrewd  tanned  face  in  which 
his  eyes  showed  oddly  blue,  and  he  half  rose, 
civilly  enough,  as  the  girl  advanced. 

"Please  sit  down,"  he  said  with  a  strong 
English  accent.  "I  '11  have  to  see  your  pass- 
port if  you  will  be  so  good."  She  took  it  from 
the  bag  she  carried,  and  he  glanced  at  it  per- 
functorily. 

"Your  name  is  Esme  Falconer?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

It  was  the  name  of  the  little  Stuart  prin- 
cess, the  daughter  of  Charles  the  First,  whose 
quaint,  coiffed,  blue-gowned  portrait  hangs  in 
a  dark,  gloomy  gallery  at  Rome.  I  was  sub- 
consciously aware  that  I  liked  it  despite  its 


THUMBSCREWS  75 

strangeness,  the  while  I  wondered  more  ac- 
tively if  that  Paul  Pry  of  a  Van  Blarcom  had 
imparted  to  the  ship's  authorities  the  suspicions 
he  had  shared  with  me. 

"You  are  an  American,  Miss  Falconer? 
You  were  born  in  the  States?  You  are  going 
to  Italy — and  then  home  again?"  The  ques- 
tions came  in  a  reassuringly  mechanical  fash- 
ion ;  the  man  was  doing  his  duty,  nothing  more. 

"I  may  go  also  to  France."  Her  voice  was 
steady,  but  I  saw  that  she  had  clenched  her 
hands  beneath  the  table. 

I  glanced  at  Van  Blarcom,  to  find  him  listen- 
ing intently,  his  neck  thrust  forward,  his  eyes 
almost  protruding  in  his  eagerness  not  to  miss 
a  word.     But  there  was  to  be  nothing  more. 

"That  is  satisfactory.  Miss  Falconer,"  an- 
nounced the  Englishman;  with  a  little  sigh  of 
relief,  she  stood  back  against  the  wall. 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  ofiicer  to  me  in  an- 
other tone. 

As  I  came  forward,  his  eyes  ran  over  me 
from  head  to  foot.  So  did  Captain  Cecchi's; 
but  I  hardly  noticed;  these  uniforms,  these 


76    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

formalities,  these  war  precautions,  were  like 
a  dash  of  comic  opera.  I  was  not  taking  them 
seriously  in  the  least.  The  Britisher  ges- 
tured me  toward  a  seat,  but  it  seemed  super- 
fluous for  so  brief  an  interview,  and  I  re- 
mained standing  with  my  hands  resting  on  a 
chair. 

"I'll  have  your  passport!"  There  was 
something  curt  in  his  manner.  "Ah!  And 
your  name  is — ?" 

"My  name  is  Devereux  Bayne." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Thirty." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"In  New  York  and  Washington."  If  he 
could  be  laconic,  so  could  I. 

"You  were  born  in  America?" 

"No.  I  was  born  in  Paris."  By  this  time 
questions  and  answers  were  like  the  pop  of 
rifle-shots. 

"That  was  a  long  way  from  home.  Lucky 
you  chose  the  country  of  one  of  our  Allies." 
Was  this  sarcasm  or  would-be  humor?  It  had 
an  unpleasant  ring. 


THUMBSCREWS  77 

"Glad  you  like  it,"  I  responded,  with  a  cold 
stare,  "but  I  did  n't  pick  it." 

"Well,  if  you  were  n't  born  in  the  States, 
are  you  an  American  citizen?"  he  imperturb- 
ably  pursued. 

"If  you  '11  consult  my  passport,  you  '11  see 
that  I  am." 

"Did  either  your  father  or  your  mother  have 
any  German  blood?" 

I  could  hear  a  slight  rustle  back  of  me  among 
the  passengers,  none  of  whom,  it  was  plain,  had 
been  subjected  to  such  cross-questioning.  I 
was  growing  restive,  but  I  couldn't  tell  him 
it  was  not  his  business;  of  course  it  was. 

"No;  they  did  n't,"  I  briefly  replied. 

"About  your  destination  now."  He  was 
making  notes  of  all  my  answers.  "You  are 
going  to  Italy,  and  then — " 

"To  France." 

"Roundabout  trip,  rather.  The  Bordeaux 
route  is  safer  just  now  and  quicker,  too.  Why 
not  have  gone  that  way?  And  how  long  are 
you  planning  to  stop  over  on  this  side?" 

"It  depends  upon  circumstances."     What 


78     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

on  earth  ailed  the  fellow?  He  was  as  an- 
noying as  a  mosquito  or  a  gnat. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  your  plans  seem 
rather  at  loose  ends,  don't  they?  What  are 
you  crossing  for?" 

"To  drive  an  ambulance!"  I  answered  as 
curtly  as  the  words  could  be  said. 

I  saw  his  face  soften  and  humanize  at  the 
information.  For  once  I  had  made  a  satis- 
factory response,  it  seemed.  But  on  the  heels 
of  my  answer  there  rose  the  voice  of  Mr.  Mc- 
Guntrie,  sensational,  accusing,  pitched  almost 
at  a  shriek. 

"Look  here,  lieutenant,"  he  was  crying, 
"don't  you  let  that  fellow  fool  you.  I  asked 
him  the  first  night  out  if  he  was  an  ambulance 
boy,  and  he  denied  it  to  me,  up  and  down.  I 
thought  all  along  he  was  too  smart,  hooting 
like  he  did  at  submarines.  Guess  he  knew  one 
would  pick  him  up  all  right  if  the  rest  of  us 
did  sink." 

"How  about  that,  Mr.  Bayne?"  asked  the 
Englishman,  his  uncordial  self  once  more. 


THUMBSCREWS  79 

It  was  maddening.  One  would  have 
thought  them  all  in  league  to  prove  me  an 
atrocious  criminal. 

"Simply  this,"  I  replied  with  the  iciness  of 
restrained  fury,  "that  this  gentleman  has  been 
the  steamer's  pest  ever  since  the  night  we 
sailed.  If  I  had  answered  his  questions,  every 
one,  down  to  the  ship's  cat,  would  have  shared 
his  knowledge  within  the  hour.  I  did  not  deny 
anything;  I  simply  did  not  assent.  You  are 
an  officer  in  authority;  I  am  answering  you, 
though  I  protest  strongly  at  your  manner ;  but 
I  don't  tell  my  affairs  to  prying  strangers  be- 
cause we  are  cooped  up  on  the  same  boat." 

"H'm.  If  I  were  you  I  would  keep  my 
temper."  He  regarded  me  thoughtfully,  and 
then  with  rapier-like  rapidity  shot  two  ques- 
tions at  my  head.  "I  say,  Mr.  Bayne,  you  're 
positive  about  your  parents  not  having  Ger- 
man blood,  are  you?  And  you  are  quite  sure 
you  were  bom  in  Paris,  not  in — well,  Prussia, 
suppose  we  say?" 

"What  the — "     I  opportunely  remembered 


80    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

the  presence  of  Miss  Esme  Falconer. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  I  substituted  less  sul- 
phurously,  but  with  a  glare. 

He  bent  forward,  tapping  his  forefinger 
against  the  desk,  and  his  eyes  were  like  gim- 
lets boring  into  mine. 

"I  mean,"  he  enlightened  me,  his  voice  very 
hard  of  a  sudden,  "that  a  German  agent  is  due 
to  sail  on  this  line,  about  this  time,  with  cer- 
tain papers,  and  that  from  one  or  two  indica- 
tions I  'm  not  at  all  sure  you  are  not  the  man." 

With  sudden  perspicacity,  I  realized  that  he 
took  me  for  an  emissary  of  the  great  Blenheim. 
Exasperation  overwhelmed  me;  would  these 
farcical  complications  never  cease? 

"Good  heavens,  man,"  I  exclaimed  with  con- 
viction, "you  are  crazy!  Look  at  me!  Use 
your  common-sense!  What  on  earth  is  there 
about  me  to  suggest  a  spy?" 

"In  a  good  spy  there  never  is  anything  sug- 
gestive." 

By  Jove,  that  was  the  very  thing  the  secret- 
service  man  had  said! 

"You  admit  you  were  born  abroad.     You 


THUMBSCREWS  81 

claim  to  be  bound  for  France,  but  you  sail  for 
Italy.  And  you  are  rather  a  soldier's  type, 
tall,  well  set-up,  good  military  carriage. 
You  'd  make  quite  a  showing  in  a  field  uni- 
form, I  should  say." 

"In  a  fiddlestick!"  I  snapped,  weary  of  the 
situation.  "So  would  you — so  would  our 
friend  the  Italian  reservist  there.  I  'm  an 
average  American,  free,  white,  and  twenty-one, 
with  strong  pro- Ally  sympathies  and  a  pass- 
port in  perfect  shape.  This  is  all  nonsense, 
but  of  course  there  is  something  back  of  it. 
What  has  been  your  real  reason  for  deviling 
me  ever  since  I  entered  this  room?" 

The  lieutenant  was  studying  my  face. 

"Mr.  Bayne,"  he  said  slowly,  ^*do  you  care  to 
tell  me  the  nature  of  the  package  you  threw 
across  the  rail  the  first  night  out?" 

I  heard  a  gasp  from  the  group  behind  me,  a 
squeal  of  joy  from  McGuntrie,  a  quick,  low- 
drawn  breath  that  surely  came  from  the  girl. 
Pretematurally  cool,  I  thought  rapidly. 

"What's  that  you  say?  Package?"  I  re- 
peated, trying  to  gain  time. 


82     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Yes,  package  1"  said  the  Englishman, 
sharply.  "And  we  '11  dispense  with  pretense, 
please.  These  are  war-times,  and  from  com- 
mon prudence  the  Allies  keep  an  eye  on  all 
passengers  who  choose  to  sail  instead  of  stay- 
ing at  home  as  we  prefer  they  should.  Cap- 
tain Cecchi  here  reports  to  me  that  one  of  his 
stewards  saw  you  drop  a  small  weighted  ob- 
ject overboard.  He  has  asked  me  to  inter- 
rogate you,  instead  of  doing  it  himself,  so  that 
you  may  have  the  chance  to  defend  yourself  in 
English,  which  he  does  n't  speak." 

''E  vero.  It  ees  the  truth,"  confirmed  the 
captain  of  the  Re  d'ltalia — the  one  remark,  by 
the  way,  that  he  ever  addressed  to  me. 

"Well?"  It  was  the  Englishman's  cold 
voice.  "We  are  waiting,  Mr.  Bayne!  What 
was  this  object  you  were  so  anxious  to  dispose 
of?  A  message  from  some  confederate,  too 
compromising  to  keep?" 

Heretofore  I  had  carefully  avoided  looking 
at  Miss  Falconer,  but  at  this  point,  turning  my 
head  a  trifle,  I  gave  her  a  casual  glance.  Her 
eyes  had  blackened  as  they  had  done  that  night 


THUMBSCREWS  88 

on  the  deck ;  her  face  had  paled,  and  her  breath 
was  coming  fast.  But  as  I  looked,  her  gaze 
fell,  and  her  lashes  wavered;  and  I  knew  that 
whatever  came  she  did  not  mean  to  speak. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  TIGHTENING   WEB 

ID  ID  not,  of  course,  want  her  to.  I  was 
no  "Injun  giver,"  and  having  once 
pledged  my  word  to  help  her,  I  was  prepared 
to  keep  it  till  all  was  blue  or  any  other  final 
shade.  Still,  it  was  not  to  be  denied  that  my 
position  looked  incriminating.  She  might  be 
as  honest  as  the  daylight, — I  believed  she  was ; 
I  had  to  or  else  abandon  her, — but  she  had  man- 
aged to  plunge  me  into  a  confounded  mess. 

Naturally  I  was  exasperated  at  the  net  re- 
sults of  my  piece  of  gallantry.  I  did  n't  care 
to  be  suspected ;  I  was  n't  anxious  to  have  to 
lie.  All  the  same,  a  plausible  explanation, 
offered  without  delay,  appeared  essential.  I 
should  have  wanted  as  much  myself  had  I  been 
guarding  Gibraltar  port. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bayne?" 

"Well!"  I  retorted  coolly.     "I  was  just  won- 

84 


THE  TIGHTENING  WEB        85 

dering  if  I  should  answer.  This  is  an  infernal 
outrage,  you  know.  You  don't  really  think 
I  'm  a  spy.  What  you  are  doing  is  to  give 
me  a  third  degree  on  general  principles.  If 
you  '11  excuse  my  saying  so  I  think  you  ought 
to  have  more  sense  I" 

"Oh,  of  course  we  ought  to  take  you  on 
trust,"  he  agreed  sardonically.  "But  we  can't 
I  'm  afraid.  The  fact  is,  we  have  had  an  ex- 
perience or  two  in  the  past  to  shake  our  faith. 
The  last  time  this  steamer  stopped  here  we 
caught  a  pair  of  spies  who  did  n't  look  the  part 
any  more  than  you  do ;  and  since  then  we  have 
rather  stopped  taking  appearances  as  guar- 
antees." 

"AU  right,  then,"  I  responded.  "I'll 
stretch  a  point,  since  it  is  war-time.  I  give  you 
my  word  that  I  threw  overboard  a  small  bronze 
paper-weight  that  was  cluttering  up  my  traps. 
There  was  nothing  surreptitious  about  it;  the 
whole  steamer  might  have  seen  me.  Do  you 
care  to  take  the  responsibility  of  having  me 
shot  for  that?" 

"And  I  want  to  say,  sir,  that  the  gentleman 


86    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

is  giving  it  to  you  straight."  An  unexpected 
voice  addressed  the  lieutenant  at  my  back.  "I 
was  standing  at  the  door  behind  him  that  night, 
though  he  did  n't  know  it,  and  I  can  take  my 
oath  that  what  he  says  is  gospel  truth.'* 

My  unlooked-for  champion  was  Mr.  John 
Van  Blarcom.  I  stared  at  him,  at  a  loss  to 
know  why,  on  the  heels  of  our  row  on  deck  and 
my  rejection  of  his  friendly  warning,  he  should 
perjure  himself  for  me  in  so  obliging  a  fash- 
ion. He  had,  I  was  aware,  been  too  far  off 
that  night  to  know  whether  I  had  thrown  away 
a  paper-weight  or  a  sand-bag.  Moreover,  the 
object  had  been  swathed  beyond  recognition 
in  the  extra  that  was  primarily  responsible  for 
all  this  fuss.  "He  is  sorry  for  me,"  I  decided. 
"He  thinks  the  girl  has  made  a  fool  of  me." 
Instead  of  experiencing  gratitude,  I  felt  more 
galled  and  vn-athful  than  before. 

"Is  that  so?  How  close  were  you?"  the 
lieutenant  asked  alertly.  "About  ten  feet? 
You  are  quite  sure?  Well — it 's  all  right,  I 
suppose,  then,"  he  admitted  in  a  very  grudging 
tone. 


THE  TIGHTENING  WEB        87 

"No,  it  is  n't,"  I  declared  tartly.  I  was  by 
no  means  satisfied  with  so  half-hearted  a  vin- 
dication ;  nor  did  I  care  to  owe  my  immunity  to 
a  patronizing  lie  on  Mr.  Van  Blarcom's  part. 
"You  have  accused  me  of  spying.  Do  you 
think  I  '11  let  it  go  at  that?  I  insist  that  you 
have  my  baggage  brought  up  here  and  that  you 
search  it  and  search  me." 

The  face  of  the  Englishman  really  relaxed 
for  once. 

"That 's  a  good  idea.  And  it 's  what  any 
honest  man  would  want,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  ap- 
proved. "Since  you  demand  it — certainly, 
we  '11  do  it,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  captain, 
who  promptly  ordered  two  stewards  to  fetch 
my  traps  from  below. 

Things  move  rapidly  on  shipboard.  My 
traveling  impedimenta  appeared  in  the  salon 
almost  before  I  could  have  uttered  the  potent 
name  of  Jack  Robinson,  had  I  cared  to  try. 
With  cold  aloofness  I  offered  my  keys,  and 
the  head  steward  knelt  to  officiate,  while  the 
crowd  gaped  and  the  second  English  officer 
abandoned  his  corner  and  his  papers,  standing 


88     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

forth  to  watch  with  the  lieutenant  and  the 
captain,  thus  forming  an  intent  and  highly  in- 
terested committee  of  three. 

The  investigation  began,  very  thorough, 
slightly  harrowing.  I  had  not  realized  the 
embarrassing  detail  of  such  a  search.  An  ex- 
tended store  of  collars  suitable  for  different 
occasions ;  neat  and  glossy  piles  of  shirts,  both 
dress  and  plain ;  black  silk  hose  mountain  high, 
and  neckties  as  numerous  as  the  sea  sands. 
Noting  the  rapt  attention  that  McGuntrie  in 
particular  gave  to  these  disclosures,  I  felt  that 
to  deserve  so  inhuman  a  punishment  my  crime 
must  have  been  black  indeed.  Shoes  on  their 
trees;  articles  of  silk  underwear;  brushes, 
combs,  gloves,  cards,  boxes  of  cigarettes,  an  ex- 
tra flask ;  some  light  literature.  And  so  on  and 
so  on,  ad  nauseam,  till  I  grew  dully  apathetic, 
and  roused  only  to  praise  Allah  when  we  left 
the  boxes  for  the  trunk. 

Hardened  by  this  time,  I  brazenly  endured 
the  exhibition  of  my  pajamas,  not  turning  a 
hair  when  they  were  held  up  and  shaken  out  be- 
fore the  attentive  crowd.     In  a  similar  spirit 


THE  TIGHTENING  WEB        89 

I  bore  the  examination  of  my  coats  and  trous- 
ers, the  rummaging  of  my  vests,  the  investiga- 
tion of  my  hats.  "Courage!"  I  told  myself. 
''Nothing  in  the  world  is  endless."  Indeed,  the 
last  garment  was  now  being  lifted,  revealing 
nothing  beneath  it  save  a  leather  wallet  care- 
fully tied. 

"Just  look  through  that,  will  you?"  I  re- 
quested with  chilling  sarcasm.  "Otherwise 
you  may  get  to  thinking  later  that  I  had  a  note 
for  the  kaiser  there.  In  point  of  fact,  those 
are  simply  some  letters  of  introduction  that  I 
am  taking  to — "  I  broke  off  abruptly. 
"Good  Lord  deliver  us  I"  I  blankly  exclaimed. 
"What's  that?" 

The  heutenant,  complying  with  my  request, 
had  unbound  the  wallet  and  was  flirting  out 
its  contents  in  fan-like  fashion  like  a  hand  of 
cards.  I  saw  the  imposing  array  of  letters 
presented  me  by  Dunny,  who  knows  every- 
body, headed  by  one  to  his  old  friend,  the 
American  ambassador  to  France.  So  far,  so 
good.  But  beneath  them,  with  a  sickening 
sense  of  being  in  a  bad  dream,  I  beheld  a  thin 


90    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

sheaf  of  papers,  neatly  folded,  bound  with  red 
tape  and  sealed  with  bright  red  wax, — an  ob- 
ject which,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  had  no 
more  business  among  my  belongings  than  the 
knives  and  plates  that  the  conjurer  snatches 
from  the  surrounding  atmosphere,  or  the  hen 
which  he  evolves,  clucking,  from  an  erstwhile 
empty  sleeve. 

Standing  there  with  the  impersonal  calm  of 
utter  helplessness,  I  watched  the  Britisher 
break  the  seal  and  unfold  the  sheets.  They 
were  thin  and  they  were  many  and  they  were 
covered  with  closely  jotted  hieroglyphics,  row 
upon  row.  But  the  sphinx-like  quality  of  the 
contents  afforded  me  no  gleam  of  hope.  If 
they  had  proclaimed  as  much  in  the  plainest 
Enghsh  printing,  I  could  have  been  no  surer 
that  they  were  the  papers  of  Franz  von  Blen- 
heim ;  nor,  as  I  learned  a  good  while  afterward, 
was  I  mistaken  in  the  behef . 

I  was  vaguely  aware  that  the  spectators  were 
being  ordered  from  the  salon.  Captain  Cec- 
chi's  eyes  were  dark  stilettos;  the  gaze  of  the 
Englishman  was  like  a  narrow  flash  of  blue 


THE  TIGHTENING  WEB        91 

steel.  He  was  going  to  say  something.  I 
waited  apathetically.  Then  the  words  came, 
falling  like  icicles  in  the  deadness  of  the  hush. 
"If  you  wish,  sir,"  he  stated,  "to  explain  why 
you  are  traveling  with  cipher  papers.  Captain 
Cecchi  and  I  will  hear  what  you  have  to  say." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHAT  A  THIEF   CAN  DO 

IN  sheer  desperation  I  achieved  a  ghastly 
levity  of  demeanor. 

"Please  don't  shoot  me  yet,"  I  managed  to 
request.  "And  if  I  sit  down  and  think  for  a 
moment,  don't  take  it  for  a  confession.  Any 
innocent  man  would  be  shocked  dumb  tem- 
porarily if  his  traps  gave  up  such  loot." 

I  sat  down  in  dizzy  fashion,  my  judges 
watching  me.  Through  my  mind,  in  a  mad 
phantasmagoria,  danced  the  series  of  events 
that  had  begun  in  the  St.  Ives  restaurant  and 
was  ending  so  dramatically  in  the  salon  of  this 
ship.  Or  perhaps  the  end  had  not  yet  arrived, 
I  thought  ironically.  By  a  slight  effort  of  im- 
agination I  could  conjure  up  a  scene  of  the 
sort  rendered  familiar  by  countless  movie 
dramas — a    lowering    fortress    wall,    myself 

92 


WHAT  A  THIEF  CAN  DO       93 

standing  against  it,  scornfully  waving  away  a 
bandage,  and  drawn  up  before  me  a  highly 
efficient  firing-squad. 

To  all  intents  and  purposes  I  was  a  spy, 
caught  red-handed;  but  with  due  respect  for 
circumstantial  evidence,  I  did  not  mean  to  re- 
main one  long.  That  part  of  it  was  too  absurd. 
There  must  be  a  dozen  ways  out  of  it.  Come ! 
The  fact  that  so  strange  an  experience  had  be- 
fallen me  in  a  New  York  hotel  on  the  eve  of 
my  sailing  could  not  be  pure  coincidence. 
There  lay  the  clue  to  the  mystery.  Let  me 
work  it  out. 

And  then,  as  my  wits  began  groping,  com- 
prehension came  to  me — a  sudden  comprehen- 
sion that  left  me  stunned  and  dazed:  The 
open  trunk,  the  thief,  the  descent  by  the  fire- 
escape,  the  girl's  calm  denial,  turning  us  from 
the  suspected  door.  Yes,  the  girl!  Heavens, 
what  a  blind  dolt  I  had  been !  No  wonder  that 
Van  Blarcom  had  felt  moved  to  say  a  helping 
word  for  me,  as  for  a  congenital  idiot  not  re- 
sponsible for  his  acts  I 

"When  you  are  ready — "  the  lieutenant  was 


94     THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

remarking.  I  pulled  myself  together  as  has- 
tily as  I  could. 

"First,"  I  began,  with  all  the  resolution  I 
could  muster,  "I  want  to  say  that  I  am  as  much 
at  a  loss  as  you  are  about  this  thing.  I  never 
set  eyes  upon  those  papers  until  this  evening. 
Why,  man  alive,  I  insisted  on  the  search!  I 
asked  you  to  examine  the  wallet!  Do  you 
think  I  did  all  that  to  establish  my  own 
guilt?" 

"We  '11  keep  to  the  point,  please."  His 
very  politeness  was  ill  omened.  "The  papers 
were  in  your  baggage.  Can  you  explain  how 
they  came  there?" 

"I  am  going  to  try,"  I  answered  coolly. 
"To  begin  with,  I  can  vouch  for  it  that  they 
were  not  there  two  weeks  ago  when  my  man 
packed  the  trunk.  That  I  can  swear  to,  for  I 
glanced  through  the  letters  before  handing  him 
the  wallet ;  and  when  he  had  finished  packing  I 
locked  the  trunk  and  went  yachting  for  five 
days." 

"And  your  baggage?  Did  it  go  with  you?" 
queried  the  Englishman. 


WHAT  A  THIEF  CAN  DO       95 

*'No;  it  didn't.  It  remained  in  the  bag- 
gage-room of  my  apartment  house;  but  when 
I  landed  and  found  hotel  quarters,  I  had  it 
sent  to  me  at  the  St.  Ives." 

"So  you  stayed  there!"  He  was  eyeing  me 
with  ever-growing  disfavor.  "You  didn't 
know,  of  course,  that  it  was  a  nest  of  agents, 
a  sort  of  rendezvous  for  hyphenates,  and  that 
the  last  spy  we  caught  on  this  line  had  made  it 
his  headquarters  in  New  York?" 

"I  did  not,"  I  replied  stiffly.  "But  I  can 
believe  the  worst  of  it.  Now,  here  's  what  be- 
fell me  there."  I  recounted  my  adventure 
briefly,  beginning  with  the  summons  from 
restaurant  to  telephone. 

It  was  strange  how,  as  I  talked,  each  detail 
fell  into  its  place,  how  each  little  circumstance, 
formerly  so  mystifying,  grew  clear.  The 
alarm  of  the  maitre  d'hotel  over  my  sudden 
departure,  his  relief  when  I  entered  the  booths, 
his  corresponding  horror  when,  emerging,  I 
took  the  elevator  for  my  room,  puzzled  me  no 
longer.  The  deserted  halls,  the  flight  of  the 
little  German  intruder,  the  determined  lack  of 


96    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

interest  of  the  hotel  management,  were  merely 
links  in  the  chain. 

I  told  a  straight,  unvarnished  story  with  one 
exception.  When  I  came  to  the  point  I 
could  n't  bring  in  Miss  Esme  Falconer's  name. 
I  said  non-committally  that  a  lady  had  occu- 
pied the  room  where  the  thief  took  refuge ;  and 
I  left  it  to  be  inferred  that  I  had  never  seen  her 
before  or  since. 

The  lieutenant  heard  my  tale  out  with  im- 
passivity. "Is  that  all,  Mr.  Bayne?"  he  asked 
shortly,  as  I  paused. 

"Yes,"  I  lied  doggedly.  "And  if  you  want 
more,  I  call  you  insatiable.  I  've  told  you 
enough  to  satisfy  any  man's  appetite  for  the 
abnormal,  have  n't  I?" 

"Your  defense,  then,"  he  summed  it  up,  "is 
that  under  the  protection  of  a  German  man- 
agement a  German  agent  entered  your  room, 
opened  your  trunk,  concealed  these  papers  in 
it,  and  repacked  it.     You  believe  that,  eh?" 

It  sounded  wild  enough,  I  acknowledged 
gloomily  as  I  sat  staring  at  the  carpet  with  my 
elbows  on  my  knees. 


WHAT  A  THIEF  CAN  DO       97 

"You  Ve  been  a  pretty  fpol,  a  pretty  fool,  a 
pretty  fool!"  the  refrain  sang  itself  unceas- 
ingly in  my  ears.  I  was  disgusted  with  the 
episode,  more  disgusted  yet  with  my  own  role. 
Why  was  I  lying,  why  making  myself  by  my 
present  silence  as  well  as  by  my  former  density 
the  flagrant  confederate  of  a  clever  spy? 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"Oh,  what's  the  use?"  I  muttered.  "No, 
of  course  I  don't  believe  it,  and  you  won't 
either  if  you  are  sane.  It  is  too  ridiculous.  I 
might  as  well  suggest  that  if  the  thief  hadn't 
been  gone  when  they  arrived,  the  manager 
and  the  detective  would  have  shanghaied  me, 
or  the  house  doctor  drugged  me  with  a  hypo- 
dermic till  the  fellow  could  get  away.  Let's 
end  all  this  I  I  'm  ready  to  go  ashore  if  you 
want  to  take  me.  In  your  place  I  know  I 
should  laugh  at  such  a  story;  and  I  think  that 
on  general  principles  I  should  order  the  man 
who  told  it  shot." 

"Not  necessarily,  Mr.  Bayne,"  was  the  cool 
response  of  the  Englishman.  "The  trouble 
with  you  neutrals  is  that  you  laugh  too  much  at 


98    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

German  spies.  We  warn  you  sometimes,  and 
then  you  grin  and  say  that  it 's  hysteria.  But 
by  and  by  you  '11  change  your  minds,  as  we 
did,  and  know  the  German  secret  service  for 
what  it  is — the  most  competent  thing,  the  most 
widely  spread,  and  pretty  much  the  most  dan- 
gerous, that  the  world  has  to  fight  to-day." 

"You  don't  mean,"  I  inquired  blankly,  "that 
you  beheve  me?" 

It  looks  odd  enough  as  I  set  it  down.  Ordi- 
narily I  expect  my  word  to  be  accepted;  but 
then,  as  a  general  thing  I  don't  suddenly  dis- 
cover that  I  have  been  chaperoning  a  set  of 
German  code-dispatches  across  the  seas. 

"I  mean,"  he  corrected  with  truly  British 
phlegm,  "that  I  can't  say  positively  your  story 
is  untrue.  Here 's  the  case :  Some  one — 
probably  Franz  von  Blenheim — wants  to  send 
these  papers  home  by  way  of  Italy  and  Swit- 
zerland. Your  hotel  manager  tells  him  you 
are  going  to  sail  for  Naples ;  you  are  an  Ameri- 
can on  your  way  to  help  the  Allies ;  it 's  ten  to 
one  that  nobody  will  suspect  you  and  that  your 
baggage  will  go  through  untouched.     What 


WHAT  A  THIEF  CAN  DO       99 

does  he  do?  He  has  the  papers  shpped  into 
your  wallet.  Then  he  sends  a  cable  to  some 
friend  in  Naples  about  a  sick  aunt,  or  candles, 
or  soap.  And  the  friend  translates  the  cable 
by  a  private  code  and  reads  that  you  are  com- 
ing and  that  he  is  to  shadow  you  and  learn 
where  you  are  stopping  and  loot  your  trunk  the 
first  night  you  spend  ashore!" 

"I  don't  grasp,"  I  commented  dazedly, 
*'why  they  should  weave  such  circles.  Why 
not  let  one  of  their  own  agents  bring  over  the 
papers?" 

The  lieutenant  smiled  a  faint,  cold,  wintry 
smile. 

"Spies,"  he  informed  me,  "always  think  they 
are  watched,  and  generally  they  're  not  wrong 
in  thinking  so.  If  they  can  send  their  docu- 
ments by  an  innocent  person,  they  had  better. 
For  my  part,  I  call  it  a  very  clever  scheme." 

"I  believe  I  am  dreaming,"  I  muttered. 
"Somebody  ought  to  pinch  me.  You  found 
those  infernal  things  nestling  among  my  coats 
and  hose  and  trousers — and  you  don't  think  I 
put  them  there?" 


100    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"I  did  n't  say  that,"  he  denied  as  unrespon- 
sively  as  a  brazen  Vishnu.  "I  simply  say  that 
I  wouldn't  care  to  order  you  shot  as  things 
stand  now.  But  you  '11  remember  that  I  have 
only  your  word  that  all  this  happened  or  that 
you  are  really  an  American  or  even  that  this 
passport  is  yours  and  that  your  name  is — ah — 
Devereux  Bayne.  We  '11  have  to  know  quite 
a  bit  more  before  we  call  this  thing  settled. 
How  are  you  going  to  satisfy  his  Majesty  the 
King?" 

I  plucked  up  spirit. 

"Well,"  I  suggested,  "how  will  this  suit 
you?  I  '11  go  down  to  my  stateroom  and  stop 
there  until  we  land  in  Italy;  and,  if  you  like, 
just  to  be  on  the  safe  side  with  such  a  desperado 
as  I  am,  you  can  put  a  guard  outside  my  door. 
But  first,  you  '11  send  a  sheaf  of  marconigrams 
for  me  in  both  directions.  You  're  welcome  to 
read  them,  of  course,  before  they  go.  Then 
when  we  get  to  Naples,  my  friend,  Mr.  Her- 
riott,  will  meat  the  steamer.  He  is  second 
secretary  at  the  United  States  embassy,  and  his 
identification   will   be    sufficient,    I    suppose. 


WHAT  A  THIEF  CAN  DO     101 

Anyhow,  if  it  is  n't,  I  dare  say  the  ambassador 
will  say  a  word  for  me.  I  have  known  him  for 
years,  though  not  so  well." 

"That  would  be  quite  sufficient  as  to  identi- 
fication." He  stressed  the  last  word  signifi- 
cantly, and  I  thanked  heaven  for  Dunny  and 
the  forces  which  I  knew  that  rather  important 
old  personage  could  set  to  work. 

"Also,"  I  continued  coolly,  "there  will  be 
various  cablegrams  from  United  States  offi- 
cials awaiting  us,  which  will  convince  you,  I 
hope,  that  I  am  not  likely  to  be  a  spy.  There 
will  be  a  statement  from  the  friend  who  dined 
with  me  at  the  St.  Ives.  There  will  be  the 
declaration  of  the  policeman  who  saw  the  Ger- 
man climb  down  the  fire-escape  and  bolt  into 
the  room  beneath."  "And  hang  the  expense  I" 
I  added  inwardly,  computing  cable  rates,  but 
assuming  a  lordly  indifference  to  them  which 
only  a  multimillionaire  could  really  feel. 

The  Englishman  and  the  captain  consulted 
a  moment.     Then  the  former  spoke : 

"That  will  be  satisfactory,  sir,  to  Captain 
Cecchi  and  to  me.     Write  out  your  cables,  if 


102    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

you  please.  They  shall  be  sent.  And  I  say, 
Mr.  Bayne, — I  hope  you  drive  that  ambulance. 
I  'm  not  stationed  here  to  be  a  partizan,  but 
you  Ve  stood  up  to  us  like  a  man." 

An  hour  later  as  I  finished  my  solitary  din- 
ner, the  electric  lights  flickered  and  died,  and 
the  engines  began  their  throb.  Under  cover 
of  the  darkness  we  vrere  slipping  out  of  Gi- 
braltar. I  leaned  my  arms  on  the  table  and 
scanned  the  remains  of  my  feast  by  the  light  of 
my  one  sad  candle,  not  thinking  of  what  I  saw, 
or  of  the  various  calls  for  help  I  had  been  dis- 
patching, or  of  the  sailor  grimly  mounting 
guard  outside  my  door.  I  was  remembering  a 
girl,  a  girl  with  ruddy  hair  and  a  wild-rose 
flush  and  great,  gray,  starry  eyes,  a  girl  that 
by  all  the  rules  of  the  game  I  should  have 
handed  over  to  those  who  represented  the  coun- 
tries she  was  duping,  a  girl  that  I  had  found  I 
had  to  shield  when  I  came  face  to  face  with 
the  issue. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BLACK   BUTTEEFLIES 

THE  Turin-Paris  express — the  most  di- 
rect, the  Itahans  call  it — was  too  popular 
by  half  to  suit  the  taste  of  morose  beings  who 
wished  for  solitude.  With  great  trouble  and 
pains  I  had  ferreted  out  a  single  vacant  com- 
partment; but  as  four  o'clock  sounded  and  the 
whistle  blew  for  departure,  a  belated  traveler 
joined  me — worse  still,  an  acquaintance  who 
could  not  be  quite  ignored. 

The  unwelcome  intruder  was  Mr.  John  Van 
Blarcom,  my  late  fellow-voyager,  and  he  ac- 
cepted the  encounter  with  a  better  grace  than  I. 

"Why,  hello  I"  he  greeted  me  cheerfully. 
"Going  through  to  France?  Glad  to  see  you 
— but  you  're  about  the  last  man  that  I  was 
looking  for.  I  got  the  idea  somehow  you  were 
planning  to  stop  a  while  in  Rome." 

I  returned  his  nod  with  a  curtness  I  was 

108 


104    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

at  no  pains  to  dissemble.  Then  I  reproached 
myself,  for  it  was  undeniable  that  on  the  Re 
d' Italia  he  had  more  than  once  stood  my  friend. 
He  had  offered  me  a  timely  warning,  which  I 
had  flouted;  he  had  obligingly  confirmed  my 
statement  in  my  grueling  third  degree.  Yet 
despite  this,  or  because  of  it,  I  did  n't  like  him ; 
nor  did  I  like  his  patronizing,  complacent  man- 
ner, which  seemed  fairly  to  shriek  at  me,  "I  told 
you  so!" 

"Changed  my  plans,"  I  acknowledged  with 
a  lack  of  cordiality  that  failed  to  ruffle  him. 
He  had  hung  up  his  overcoat  and  installed 
himself  facing  me,  and  was  now  making  prep- 
arations for  lighting  a  fat  cigar. 

"Well,"  he  commented,  with  a  chuckle  of 
raillery,  after  this  operation,  "the  last  time 
I  saw  you  you  were  in  a  pretty  tight  corner, 
eh?  You  can't  say  it  was  my  fault,  either; 
I  'd  have  put  you  wise  if  you  'd  listened.  But 
you  weren't  taking  any — you  knew  better 
than  I  did — and  you  strafed  me,  as  the 
Dutchies  say,  to  the  kaiser's  taste." 

"Good  advice  seldom  gets  much  thanks,  I  be- 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    105 

lieve,"  was  my  grumpy  comment,  which  he  un- 
expectedly chose  to  accept  as  an  apology  and 
with  a  large,  fine,  generous  gesture  to  blow 
away. 

"That 's  all  right,"  he  declared.  "I  'm  not 
holding  it  against  you.  We  Ve  all  got  to 
learn.  Next  time  you  won't  be  so  easy  caught, 
1  guess.  It  makes  a  man  do  some  thinking 
when  he  gets  a  dose  like  you  did;  and  those 
chaps  at  Gibraltar  certainly  gave  you  a  rough 
deal  I" 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  differed  shortly, — 
I  was  n't  hunting  sympathy, — "considering  all 
the  circumstances,  I  think  they  were  extremely 
fair." 

"Not  to  shoot  you  on  sight?  Well,  maybe." 
He  was  grinning.  "But  I  guess  you  were  n't 
hunting  for  a  chance  to  spend  two  days  cooped 
up  in  a  cabin  that  measured  six  feet  by  five." 

"It  had  advantages.  One  of  them  was  soli- 
tude," I  responded  dryly.  "And  it  was  less 
unpleasant  than  being  relegated  to  a  six-by- 
three  grave.  See  here,  I  don't  enjoy  this  sub- 
ject I     Suppose  we  drop  it.     The  fact  is,  I  've 


106    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

never  understood  why  you  came  to  my  rescue 
on  that  occasion ;  you  did  n't  owe  me  any  civil- 
ity, you  know,  and  you  had  to — well — we  'U 
say  draw  on  your  imagination  when  you 
claimed  you  saw  what  I  threw  overboard  that 
night." 

"Sure,  I  lied  like  a  trooper,"  he  admitted 
placidly.  "Glad  to  do  it.  You  did  n't  break 
any  bones  when  you  strafed  me,  and  anyhow, 
I  felt  sorry  for  you.  It  always  goes  against 
me  to  see  a  fellow  being  played !" 

Thanks  to  my  determined  coolness,  the  con- 
versation lapsed.  I  buried  myself  in  the  Paris 
"Herald,"  but  found  I  could  not  read.  Sim- 
mering with  wrath,  I  lived  again  the  ill-starred 
voyage  his  words  recalled  to  me,  breathed  the 
close  smothering  air  of  the  cabin  that  had  held 
me  prisoner,  tasted  the  knowledge  that  I  was 
watched  like  any  thief.  An  armed  sailor  had 
stood  outside  my  door  by  day  and  by  night; 
and  a  dozen  times  I  had  longed  to  fling  open 
that  frail  partition,  seize  the  man  by  the  collar, 
and  hurl  him  far  away. 

Glancing  out  at  the  landscape,  I  saw  that 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    107 

Turin  lay  back  of  us  and  that  our  track  was 
winding  through  dark  chestnut  forests  toward 
the  heights.  Confound  Van  Blarcom's  remi- 
niscences and  the  thoughts  they  had  set  stir- 
ring I  In  ambush  behind  my  paper  I  gloomily 
relived  the  past. 

Our  ship,  following  sealed  instructions,  had 
changed  her  course  at  Gibraltar,  conveying  us 
by  way  of  the  Spanish  coast  to  Genoa  instead 
of  Naples.  From  my  port-hole  I  had  gazed 
glumly  on  blue  skies  and  bright,  blue  waters, 
purple  hills,  and  white-walled  cities,  and  fish- 
ing boats  with  patched,  gaudy  sails  and  dark- 
complexioned  crews.  Then  Genoa  rose  from 
the  sea,  tier  after  tier  of  pink  and  green  and 
orange  houses  and  shimmering  groves  of  olive 
trees;  and  I  was  siunmoned  to  the  salon,  to 
face  the  captain  of  the  port,  the  chief  of  the 
police  of  the  city,  and  their  bedizened  suites. 

Surrounded  by  plumes  and  swords  and  gold 
lace,  I  maintained  my  innocence  and  heard 
Jack  Herriott,  on  his  opportune  arrival,  pour 
forth  in  weird,  but  fluent,  Italian  an  account 
of  me  that  must  have  surrounded  me  in  the  eyes 


108    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

of  all  present  with  a  golden  halo,  and  that 
firmly  established  me  in  their  minds  as  the 
probable  next  President  of  the  United  States. 
Thanks  to  these  exaggerations  and  to  various 
confirmatory  cablegrams — Dunny  had  plainly 
set  the  wires  hmnming  on  receiving  my  S.O.S., 
— I  found  myself  a  free  man,  at  price  of  put- 
ting my  signature  to  a  statement  of  it  all.  I 
shook  the  hand  of  the  ever  non-committal  Cap- 
tain Cecchi,  and  left  the  ship.  And  an  hour 
later  good  old  Jack  was  gazing  at  me  in  wrath 
unconcealed  as  I  informed  him  that  I  was  in  a 
mood  for  neither  gadding  nor  social  inter- 
course, and  had  made  up  my  mind  to  proceed 
immediately  to  duty  at  the  Front. 

"You  Ve  been  seasick ;  that 's  what  ails 
you,"  he  said,  diagnosing  my  condition.  "Oh, 
I  don't  expect  you  to  admit  it — no  man  ever 
did  that.  But  you  wait  and  see  how  you  feel 
when  we  've  had  a  few  meals  at  the  Grand 
Hotel  in  Rome!" 

This  culinary  bait  leaving  me  cold,  he  lost 
his  temper,  expressed  a  hope  that  the  Germans 
would  blow  my  ambulance  to  smithereens,  and 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    109 

assured  me  that  the  next  time  I  brought  the 
Huns'  papers  across  the  ocean  I  might  ex- 
tricate myself  without  his  assistance  from  what 
might  ensue.  However,  though  he  has  a  bark, 
Jack  possesses  no  bite  worth  mentioning.  He 
even  saw  me  off  when  I  left  by  the  north-bound 
train. 

Leaning  moodily  forward,  I  looked  again 
from  the  window  and  wished  I  might  hurry 
the  creaking,  grinding  revolution  of  the  wheels. 
We  were  climbing  higher  and  higher  among  the 
mountains.  The  chestnuts,  growing  scanter, 
were  replaced  by  dark  firs  and  pines.  Streams 
came  winding  down  like  icy  crystal  threads ;  the 
little  rivers  we  crossed  looked  blue  and  glacial ; 
pale-pink  roses  and  mountain  flowers  showed 
themselves  as  we  approached  the  peaks.  A 
pohte  official,  entering,  examined  our  papers; 
and  with  snow  surrounding  us  and  cold  clear 
air  blowing  in  at  the  window,  we  left  Bardon- 
necchia,  the  last  of  the  frontier  towns. 

I  was  speeding  toward  France;  but  where 
was  the  girl  of  the  Re  d'ltcdia?  To  what  dubi- 
ous rendezvous,  what  haunt  of  spies,  had  she 


110    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

hurried,  once  ashore?  The  thought  of  her 
stung  my  vanity  ahnost  beyond  endurance. 
She  had  pleaded  with  me  that  night,  swayed 
against  me  trustingly,  appealed  to  me  as  to 
a  chivalrous  gentleman  and,  having  compe- 
tently pulled  the  wool  over  my  eyes,  had 
laughed  at  me  in  her  sleeve. 

I  had  held  myself  a  canny  fellow,  not  an 
easy  prey  to  adventurers;  a  fairly  decent  one, 
too,  who  did  n't  lie  to  a  king's  officer  or  help 
treasonable  plots.  Yet  had  I  not  done  just 
those  things  by  my  silence  on  the  steamer? 
And  for  what  reason?  Upon  my  soul  I  did  n't 
know,  unless  because  she  had  gray  eyes. 

"Hang  it  all!"  I  exclaimed,  flinging  my  un- 
lucky paper  into  a  corner,  and  becoming  aware 
too  late  that  Van  Blarcom  was  observing  me 
with  a  grin. 

"I  've  got  the  black  butterflies,  as  the  French 
say,"  I  explained  savagely.  "This  mountain 
travel  is  maddening;  one  might  as  well  be  a 
snail." 

"Sure,  a  slow  train  's  tiresome,"  agreed  Van 
Blarcom.     "Specially  if  you're  not  feeling 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    111 

overpleased  with  life  anyway,"  he  added,  with 
a  knowing  smile. 

An  angry  answer  rose  to  my  lips,  but  the 
Mont  Cenis  tunnel  opportunely  enveloped  us, 
and  in  the  dark  half -hour  transit  that  followed 
I  regained  my  self-control.  It  was  not  worth 
while,  I  decided,  to  quarrel  with  the  fellow, 
to  break  his  head  or  to  give  him  the  chance  of 
breaking  mine.  After  all,  I  thought  low- 
spiritedly,  what  right  had  I  to  look  down  on 
him?  We  were  pot  and  kettle,  indistinguish- 
ably  black.  It  was  true  that  he  had  perjured 
himself  upon  the  liner;  but  so,  in  spirit  if  not 
in  words,  had  I ! 

Thus  reflecting,  I  saw  the  train  emerge  from 
the  tunnel,  felt  it  jar  to  a  standstill  in  the 
station  of  Modane,  and,  in  obedience  to  stac- 
cato French  outcries  on  the  platform,  alighted 
in  the  frontier  town.  Followed  by  Van  Blar- 
com  and  preceded  by  our  porters,  I  strolled  in 
leisurely  fashion  toward  the  customs  shed. 
The  air  was  clear,  chilly,  invigorating;  snowy 
peaks  were  thick  and  near.  And  the  scene 
was  picturesque,  dotted  as  it  was  with  mounted 


112    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

bayonets  and  blue  territorial  uniforms — re- 
minders that  boundary  lines  were  no  longer 
jests  and  that  strangers  might  not  enter  France 
unchallenged  in  time  of  war. 

Van  Blarcom's  elbow  at  this  juncture 
nudged  me  sharply. 

"Say,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  was  whispering,  "look 
over  there,  will  you?  What  do  you  know 
about  that?" 

I  looked  indifferently.  Then  blank  dismay 
took  possession  of  me.  Across  the  shed,  just 
visible  between  rows  of  trunks  piled  mountain 
high,  stood  Miss  Esme  Falconer,  as  usual  only 
too  well  worth  seeing  from  fur  hat  to  modish 
shoe. 

"Ain't  that  the  limit,"  commented  the  grin- 
ning Van  Blarcom;  "us  three  turning  up  again, 
all  together  like  this  ?  Well,  I  guess  she  won't 
have  to  call  a  pohceman  to  stop  you  talking 
to  her.  You  know  enough  this  time  to  steer 
pretty  clear  of  her.     Is  n't'  that  so  ?" 

But  I  had  wheeled  upon  him;  the  coinci- 
dence was  too  striking! 

"Look  here!"  I  demanded,  "are  you  follow- 


^ 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    113 

ing  that  young  lady?  Is  that  your  business 
on  this  side?" 

"No!"  he  denied  disgustedly,  retreating  a 
step.  "Never  saw  her  from  the  time  we  docked 
till  this  minute ;  never  wanted  to  see  her  I  Any- 
how, what 's  the  glare  for?     Suppose  I  was?" 

"It 's  rather  strange,  you  '11  admit."  I  was 
regarding  him  fixedly.  "You  seemed  to  have 
a  good  deal  of  information  about  her  on  the 
ship.  Yet  when  that  affair  occurred  at  Gi- 
braltar, you  were  as  dumb  as  an  oyster.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  the  captain  and  the  English 
officers  the  things  you  knew?" 

"Well,  I  had  my  reasons,"  he  replied  defi- 
antly. "And  at  that,  I  don't  see  as  you  've 
got  anything  on  me,  Mr.  Bayne.  You  're  no 
fool.  You  put  two  and  two  together  quick 
enough  to  know  darned  well  who  planted  those 
papers  in  your  baggage;  so  if  you  thought  it 
needed  telling,  why  did  n't  you  tell  it  your- 
self?" 

"I  don't  know  who  put  them  there,"  I  de- 
nied hastily,  "except  that  he  was  a  pale  little 
runt  of  a  German,  pretending  to  be  a  thief, 


114    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

who  will  wish  he  had  died  young  if  I  ever  see 
him  again." 

An  inspector  had  just  passed  my  traps 
through  with  bored  indifference.  I  turned  a 
huffy  back  on  Van  Blarcom  and  went  to  stand 
in  line  before  a  door  which  harbored,  I  was 
told,  a  special  commission  for  the  examination 
of  passports  and  the  admission  of  travelers 
into  France. 

Reaching  the  inner  room  in  due  course,  I 
saluted  three  uniformed  men  who  sat  round 
an  unimposing  wooden  table,  exhibited  the  vise 
that  Jack  Herriott  had  secured  for  me  at 
Genoa,  and  was  welcomed  to  the  land.  Then 
I  stepped  forth  on  the  platform,  retrieved  my 
porter  and  my  baggage,  and  placed  myself 
near  the  door  to  wait  until  the  girl  should 
come. 

I  must  have  been  a  grim  sort  of  sentinel  as 
I  stood  there  watching.  I  knew  what  I  had  to 
do,  but  I  detested  it  with  all  my  heart.  There 
was  one  thing  to  be  said  for  this  Miss  Falconer 
— she  had  courage.  She  was  pressing  on  to 
French  soil  without  lingering  a  day  in  Italy, 


THE  BLACK  BUTTERFLIES    115 

though  she  must  be  aware  that  by  so  swift  a 
move  she  was  risking  suspicion,  discovery, 
death. 

As  moment  after  moment  dragged  past,  I 
grew  uneasy.  Would  she  come  out  at  all? 
Could  she  win  past  those  trained,  keen-eyed 
men?  The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more 
desperate  seemed  the  game  she  was  playing. 
This  little  Alpine  town,  high  among  the  peaks, 
surrounded  by  pines  and  snow,  had  been  a  set- 
ting for  tragedies  since  the  war  began.  These 
territorials  with  their  muskets  were  not  mere 
supers,  either.  But  no!  She  was  emerging; 
she  was  starting  toward  the  rapide.  There, 
no  doubt,  a  reserved  compartment  was  await- 
ing her,  and  once  inside  its  shelter,  she  would 
not  appear  again. 

I  drew  a  deep  breath  in  which  resolve  and 
distaste  were  mingled.  She  had  crossed  the 
frontier,  but  she  was  not  in  Paris  yet.  I 
couldn't  shirk  the  thing  twice,  knowing  as  I 
did  her  charm,  her  beauty,  her  air  of  proud, 
spirited  graciousness — all  the  tools  that 
equipped  her.     I  could  n't,  if  I  was  ever  again 


116    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

to  hold  up  my  head  before  a  Frenchman,  let  her 
pass  on,  so  daring  and  dangerous  and  resource- 
ful, to  do  her  work  in  France. 

As  she  approached,  I  stepped  in  front  of 
her,  lifting  my  hat. 

"This  is  a  great  surprise,  Miss  Falconer," 
said  I. 


CHAPTER  X 

DINNER  FOE  TWO 

1WAS  prepared  for  fear,  for  distress,  for 
pleading  as  I  confronted  Miss  Falconer; 
the  one  thing  I  hadn't  expected  was  that  she 
should  seem  pleased  at  the  meeting,  but  she 
did.  She  flushed  a  little,  smiled  brightly,  and 
held  out  her  gloved  hand  to  me. 

"Why,  Mr.  Baynel  I  am  so  gladl"  she  ex- 
claimed in  frankly  cordial  tones. 

The  crass  coolness  of  her  tactics,  with  its 
implied  rating  of  my  intelligence,  was  the  very 
bracer  I  needed  for  a  most  unpleasant  task. 
I  accepted  her  hand,  bowed  over  it  formally, 
and  released  it.  Then  I  spoke  with  the  most 
impersonal  courtesy  in  the  world. 

"And  I,"  I  declared  coolly,  "am  delighted, 

I  assure  you.     It  is  great  luck  meeting  you 

like  this;  and  I  will  not  let  you  slip  away.     I 

117 


118    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

suppose  that  when  we  board  the  train  they  will 
serve  us  a  meal  of  some  sort.  Won't  you  give 
me  the  pleasure  of  having  you  for  my  guest?" 

The  brightness  had  left  her  face  as  she  sensed 
my  attitude.  She  drew  back,  regarding  me  in 
a  rebuffed,  bewildered  way. 

"Thank  you,  no.     I  am  not  hungry." 

By  Jove,  but  she  was  an  actress!  I  should 
have  sworn  I  had  hurt  her  if  I  had  n't  known 
the  truth. 

"Don't  say  that!"  I  protested.  "Of  course 
it  is  unconventional  to  dine  with  a  stranger; 
but  then  so  is  almost  everything  that  is  hap- 
pening to  you  and  me.  Think  of  those  lord 
high  executioners  in  there  round  the  table. 
See  this  platform  with  its  guards  and  bayonets 
and  guns.  And  then  remember  our  odd  ex- 
periences on  the  Re  d'ltalia.  Won't  you  risk 
one  more  informality  and  come  and  dine?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  watching  me  stead- 
ily; then,  with  proud  reluctance,  she  walked 
beside  me  toward  the  train. 

"You  helped  me  once,"  she  said,  her  eyes 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  119 

averted  now,  "and  I  haven't  forgotten.  I 
don't  understand  at  all, — but  I  shall  do  as  you 
say." 

The  passengers  were  being  herded  aboard 
by  eager,  busthng  officials.  I  saw  my  bag- 
gage and  the  girl's  installed,  disposed  of  the 
porters,  and  guided  my  companion  to  the 
wagon  restaurant.  The  horn  was  sounding  as 
we  entered,  and  at  six-thirty  promptly,  just  as 
I  put  Miss  Falconer  in  her  chair,  we  pulled 
out  of  the  snowy  station  of  Modane. 

As  I  studied  the  menu,  the  girl  sat  with 
lowered  lashes,  all  things  about  her,  from  her 
darkened  eyes  and  high  head  to  her  pallor,  pro- 
claiming her  feeling  of  offense,  her  sense  of 
hurt.  She  knew  her  game,  I  admitted,  and 
she  had  first-class  weapons.  Though  she  could 
not  weaken  my  resolution,  she  made  my  begin- 
ning hard. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  discouraging  meal," 
I  gossiped  procrastinatingly.  "But,  since  we 
are  in  France,  it  will  be  a  little  less  horrible 
than  the  usual  dining-car.     The  wine  is  prob- 


120    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

ably  hopeless;  I  suggest  Evian  or  Vichy. 
These  radishes  look  promising.  Will  you  have 
some  ?" 

"No.  I  am  not  hungry,"  she  repeated 
briefly.  "Won't  you  please  tell  me  what  you 
have  to  say?" 

Though  I  did  n't  in  the  least  want  them,  I 
ate  a  few  of  the  radishes  just  to  show  that  I 
was  not  abashed  by  her  haughty,  reproachful 
air.  Other  passengers  were  strolling  in. 
Here  was  Mr.  John  Van  Blarcom,  who,  at 
sight  of  Miss  Falconer  and  myself  to  all  ap- 
pearances cozily  established  for  a  tete-a-tete 
meal,  stopped  in  his  tracks  and  fastened  on  me 
the  hard,  appraising  scrutiny  that  a  police- 
man might  turn  on  a  hitherto  respectable  ac- 
quaintance discovered  in  converse  with  some 
notorious  crook.  For  an  instant  he  seemed  dis- 
posed to  buttonhole  me  and  remonstrate. 
Then  he  shrugged  his  stocky  shoulders,  the 
gesture  indicating  that  one  can't  save  a  fool 
from  his  folly,  and  established  himself  at  a 
near-by  table,  from  which  coign  of  vantage  he 
kept  us  under  steady  watch. 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  121 

Given  such  an  audience,  my  outward  mien 
must  be  impeccable. 

"There  is  something,"  I  admitted  cautiously, 
"that  I  want  to  say  to  you.  But  I  wish  you 
would  eat  something  first.  People  are  watch- 
ing us,"  I  added  beneath  my  breath  as  the  soup 
appeared. 

She  took  a  sip  under  protest,  and  then  re- 
placed her  spoon  and  sat  with  fingers  twisting 
her  gloves  and  eyes  fixed  smolderingly  on 
mine.  I  shifted  furtively  in  my  seat.  This 
was  a  charming  experience.  I  was  being,  from 
my  point  of  view,  almost  quixotically  generous ; 
yet  with  one  glance  she  could  make  me  feel 
like  a  bully  and  a  brute. 

"I  am  sure,"  I  stumbled,  fumbling  desper- 
ately with  my  serviette,  "that  you  came  over 
without  realizing  what  war  conditions  are. 
Strangers  are  n't  wanted  just  now.  Tra- 
vel is  dangerous  for  women.  You  may 
think  me  all  kinds  of  a  presumptuous 
idiot, — I  sha'n't  blame  you, — but  I  am 
going  to  urge  you  must  strongly  to  go 
home." 


122    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Whatever  she  had  looked  for,  obviously  it 
was  not  that. 

"Mr.  Bayne,"  she  exclaimed,  regarding  me 
wonderingly,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  this,  Miss  Falconer,"  I  answered  with 
almost  Teutonic  ruthlessness.  Confound  it  I 
I  could  n't  sit  here  forever  bullying  her ;  sheer 
desperation  lent  me  strength.  "The  Espagne 
sails  from  Bordeaux  on  Saturday,  I  see  by  the 
Herald,  and  if  I  were  you,  I  should  most 
certainly  be  on  board.  In  fact,  if  you  lose 
the  chance,  I  am  sure  you  '11  regret  it  later. 
The  French  police  authorities  are — er — ^very 
inquisitive  about  foreigners;  and  if  you  stop 
in  France  in  these  anxious  times,  I  think  it 
likely  that  they  may — ^well — " 

She  drew  a  quick,  hard  breath  as  I  trailed 
off  into  silence.  Her  eyes,  darkened,  horrified, 
were  gazing  full  into  mine. 

"You  wouldn't  tell  them  about  me?  You 
couldn't  be  so  cruel!"  The  words  came  al- 
most fiercely,  yet  with  a  sound  like  a  stifled 
sob. 

By  its  sheer  preposterousness  the  speech 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  12a 

left  me  dumb  a  moment,  and  then  gave  me  back 
the  self-possession  I  had  been  clutching  at 
throughout  the  meal.  For  the  first  time  since 
entering  I  sat  erect  and  squared  my  shoulders. 
I  even  confronted  her  with  a  rather  glittering 
smile. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  I  said,  with  a  cool  stare, 
"if  I  appear  so;  but  I  am  consideration  itself 
compared  with  the  people  you  would  meet  in 
Paris,  say.  That 's  the  very  point  I  'm  mak- 
ing— that  you  can't  travel  now  in  comfort. 
I  'm  simply  trying  to  spare  you  some  future 
contretemps,  Miss  Falconer;  such  as  I  had  on 
the  Re  d'ltalia,  you  may  recall." 

She  leaned  impulsively  across  the  table. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bayne,  I  knew  it!  You  are  angry 
about  that  wretched  extra,  and  you  have  a 
right  to  be.  Of  course  you  thought  it  cowardly 
of  me — yes,  and  ungrateful — to  stand  there 
without  a  word  and  let  those  officers  question 
you.  Mr.  Bayne,  if  the  worst  had  come  to  the 
worst,  I  should  have  spoken,  I  should,  indeed; 
but  I  had  to  wait.  I  had  to  give  myself  every 
chance.     It  meant  so  much,  so  much  I    You 


124    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

had  nothing  else  to  hide  from  them.  You 
were  certain  to  win  through.  And  then,  you 
seemed  so  undisturbed,  so  unruffled,  so  able  to 
take  care  of  yourself;  I  knew  you  were  not 
afraid.  It  was  different  with  me.  If  they  be- 
gan to  suspect,  if  they  learned  who  I  was,  I 
could  never  have  entered  France.  This  route 
through  Italy  was  my  one  hope!  I  am  so 
sorry.     But  still — " 

Hitherto  she  had  been  appealing;  but  now 
she  defied  frankly.  That  tint  of  hers,  like 
nothing  but  a  wild  rose,  drove  away  her  pallor; 
her  gray  eyes  flamed. 

"But  still,"  she  flashed  at  me,  "yo^  won't 
inform  on  me  just  for  that?  I  asked  you  to 
help  me;  you  were  free  to  refuse — and  you 
agreed!  Because  it  inconvenienced  you  a  lit- 
tle, are  you  going  to  turn  police  agent?"  Her 
red  lips  twisted  proudly,  scornfully.  "I  don't 
believe  it,  Mr.  Bayne!" 

I  laughed  shortly.  She  was  indeed  an 
artist. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  particular  epi- 
sode— "  I  began. 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  125 

"But  you  did  resent  it.  I  saw  it  when  you 
first  joined  me.  And  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you 
— to  have  the  chance  of  thanking  you!"  she 
broke  in,  smoldering  still. 

"No,  I  didn't  resent  it.  I  didn't  even 
blame  you.  If  I  blamed  any  one.  Miss  Fal- 
coner, it  would  certainly  be  myself.  I  've  con- 
cluded I  ought  not  to  go  about  without  a 
keeper.  My  gullibility  must  have  amused  you 
tremendously."     I  laughed. 

"I  never  thought  you  gullible,"  she  de- 
nied, suddenly  wistful.  "I  thought  you 
very  generous  and  very  chivalrous,  Mr. 
Bayne." 

This  was  carrying  mockery  too  far. 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said  meaningly,  "that  the 
authorities  at  Gibraltar  would  take  a  less  flat- 
tering view.  For  instance,  if  those  English- 
men learned  that  I  had  refrained  from  telling 
them  of  our  meeting  at  the  St.  Ives,  I  should 
hear  from  them,  I  fancy." 

Again  her  eyes  were  widening.  What  at- 
tractive eyes  she  had ! 

"The  St.  Ives?"  she  repeated  wonderingly. 


126    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Why  should  that  interest  them?  What  do 
you  mean?"  Then,  suddenly,  she  bent  for- 
ward, propped  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
amazed  me  with  a  slow,  astonished,  compre- 
hending smile.  "I  seel"  she  murmured, 
studying  me  intently.  *'You  thought  that  I 
screened  the  man  who  hid  those  papers,  that  I 
crossed  the  ocean  on — similar  business,  per- 
haps even  that  on  this  side  I  was  to  take  the 
documents  from  your  trunk?" 

"Naturally,"  I  rejoined  stiffly.  "And  I 
congratulate  you.  It  was  a  brilliant  piece  of 
work;  though,  as  its  victim,  I  fail  to  see  it  in 
the  rosiest  light." 

"I  understand,"  she  went  on,  still  smiling 
faintly.  "You  thought  I  was — well —  Look 
over  yonder." 

Her  glance,  seeking  the  opposite  wall  un- 
ostentatiously, directed  my  attention  to  a  black- 
lettered,  conspicuously  posted  sign: 

Be  Silent! 

Be  Mistrustful! 

The  Ears  of  the  Enemy  aee  Listening! 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  127 

Thus  it  shouted  its  warning,  like  the  thou- 
sands of  its  kind  that  are  scattered  about  the 
trains,  the  boats,  the  railroad  stations,  and  all 
the  public  places  of  France. 

''You  thought  I  was  the  ears  of  the  enemy, 
didn't  you?"  the  girl  was  asking.  "You 
thought  I  was  a  German  agent.  I  might  have 
guessed !  Well,  in  that  case  it  was  kind  of  you 
not  to  hand  me  over  to  the  Modane  gendarmes. 
I  ought  to  thank  you.  But  I  was  n't  so  sus- 
picious when  they  searched  your  trunk  and 
found  the  papers — I  simply  felt  that  they  must 
be  crazy  to  think  you  could  be  a  spy." 

I  achieved  a  shrug  of  my  shoulders,  a  polite 
air  of  incredulity ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a 
little  less  skeptical  than  I  appeared.  There 
was  something  in  her  manner  that  by  no  means 
suggested  pretense.  And  she  had  said  a  true 
word  about  the  occurrences  on  the  Re  d'ltalia. 
If  appearances  meant  facts,  I  myself  had  been 
proved  guilty  up  to  the  hilt. 

"Mr.  Bayne,"  she  was  saying  soberly,  "I 
should  like  you  to  believe  me — please  I  I  am 
an  American,  and  I  have  had  cause  lately  to 


128    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

hate  the  Germans;  all  my  bonds  are  with  our 
own  country  and  with  France.  There  is  some 
one  very  dear  to  me  to  whom  this  war  has 
worked  a  cruel  injustice.  I  have  come  to  try 
to  help  that  person;  and  for  certain  reasons — 
I  can't  explain  them — I  had  to  come  in  secret 
or  not  at  all.  But  I  have  done  nothing  vnx)ng, 
nothing  dishonorable.  And  so" — again  her 
eyes  challenged  me — "I  shall  not  sail  from 
Bordeaux  on  the  Espagne  on  Saturday;  and 
you  shall  choose  for  yourself  whether  you  will 
speak  of  me  to  the  French  police." 

It  was  not  much  of  an  argument,  regarded 
dispassionately;  yet  it  shook  me.  With  sud- 
den craftiness  I  resolved  to  trap  her  if  I  could. 

"I  ought  to  tell  them  on  the  mere  chance  that 
they  would  send  you  home,"  I  grumbled  ir- 
ritably. "You  have  no  business  here,  you 
know,  helping  people  and  being  suspected  and 
pursued  and  outrageously  annoyed  by  fools 
like  me.  Yes,  and  by  other  fools — and 
worse,"  I  added  with  feigned  sulphurousness, 
indicating  Van  Blarcom.  "Miss  Falconer, 
would  you  mind  glancing  at  the  third  man  on 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  129 

the  right — the  dark  man  who  is  staring  at  us — 
and  telling  me  whether  or  not  you  ever  saw  him 
before  you  sailed?" 

"I  am  sure  I  never  did,"  she  declared,  knit- 
ting puzzled  brows ;  "and  yet  on  the  Tie  d'ltalia 
he  insisted  that  we  had  met.  It  frightened  me 
a  little.  I  wondered  whether  or  not  he  sus- 
pected something.  And  every  time  I  see  him 
he  watches  me  in  that  same  way." 

I  was  thawing,  despite  myself. 

"There  's  one  other  thing,"  I  ventured,  "if 
you  won't  think  me  too  impertinent :  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  man  named  Franz  von  Blen- 
heim?" 

"No,"  she  said  blankly;  "I  never  did.  Who 
is  he?" 

No  birds  out  of  that  covert  I  If  this  was  act- 
ing it  was  marvelous;  there  had  not  been  the 
slightest  flicker  of  confusion  in  her  face. 

"Oh,  he  is  n't  anybody  of  importance — just  a 
man,"  I  evaded.  "Look  here.  Miss  Falconer, 
you  '11  have  to  forgive  me  if  you  can.  You 
shall  stay  in  Paris,  and  I  '11  be  as  silent  as  the 
grave  concerning  you ;  but  I  'd  like  to  do  more 


180    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

than  that.  Won't  you  let  me  come  and  call? 
Really,  you  know,  I  'm  not  such  a  duffer  as 
you  have  cause  to  think  me.  After  we  got  ac- 
quainted you  might  be  willing  to  trust  me  with 
this  business,  whatever  it  is.  And  then,  if  it 's 
not  too  desperate,  I  have  friends  who  could  be 
of  help  to  you."  Such  was  the  sop  I  threw  to 
conscience,  the  bargain  I  struck  between  sober 
reason  and  the  instinct  that  made  me  trust  her 
against  all  odds.  My  theories  must  have  been 
moonshine.  Everything  was  all  right,  prob- 
ably. But  for  the  sake  of  prudence  I  ought  to 
keep  track  of  her.     Besides,  I  wanted  to. 

Gratitude  and  consternation,  a  most  becom- 
ing mixture,  were  in  her  eyes.  She  drew  back 
a  little. 

"Oh,  thank  you ;  but  that 's  impossible,"  she 
said  imcertainly.  *'I  have  friends,  too;  but 
they  can't  help  me.     Nobody  can." 

"Well,"  I  admitted  sadly,  "I  know  the  rudi- 
ments of  manners.  I  can  recognize  a  conge, 
but  consider  me  a  persistent  boor.  Come,  Miss 
Falconer,  why  may  n't  I  call?  Because  we  are 
strangers?    If  that 's  it,  you  can  assure  your- 


DINNER  FOR  TWO  131 

self  at  the  embassy  that  I  am  perfectly  respect- 
able ;  and  you  see  that  I  don't  eat  with  my  knife 
or  tuck  my  napkin  under  my  chin  or  spill  my 
soup." 

Again  that  warm  flush. 

"Mr.  Bayne!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly. 
"Did  I  need  an  introduction  to  speak  to  you  on 
the  ship,  to  ask  unreasonable  favors  of  you,  to 
make  people  think  you  a  spy?  If  you  are 
going  to  imagine  such  absurd  things,  I  shall 
have  to — " 

"To  consent?  I  hoped  you  might  see  it  that 
way." 

"Of  course,"  she  pondered  aloud,  "I  may 
find  good  news  waiting.  If  I  do,  it  will  change 
everything.  I  could  see  you  once,  at  least,  and 
let  you  know.  I  really  owe  you  that,  I  think, 
when  you  've  been  so  kind  to  me." 

"Yes,"  I  agreed  bitterly,  with  a  pang  of 
conscience,  "I  've  been  very  kind — ^particularly 
to-night  r 

"Well,  perhaps  to-night  you  were  just  a  lit- 
tle difficult."  She  was  smiling,  but  I  did  n't 
mind ;  I  rather  liked  her  mockery  now.     "Still, 


182    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

even  when  you  thought  the  worst  of  me,  Mr. 
Bayne,  you  kept  my  secret.  And — do  you 
really  wish  to  come  to  see  me?" 

*  Vmost  emphatically  do." 

Vihe  drew  a  card  from  her  beaded  bag,  rum- 
maged vainly  for  a  pencil,  ended  by  accepting 
mine,  and  sci'bbled  a  brief  address. 

"Then,"  she  cocamanded,  handing  me  the  bit 
of  pasteboard,  "come  to  this  number  at  noon 
to-morrow  and  ask  for  me.  And  now,  since 
I  'm  not  to  go  to  prison,  Mr.  Bayne,  I  believe 
I  am  hungry.  This  is  y  ^  •  bread,  T  suppose; 
but  it  tastes  delicious.  AnAisn't  the  saltless 
butter  nice?" 

"And  here  are  the  chicken  and  the  salad  ar- 
riving!" I  exclaimed  hopefully  "And  there 
never  was  a  French  cook  yet,  howc^-er  unspeak- 
able otherwise,  who  failed  at  those.  ' 

What  had  come  to  pass  I  could  not  have 
told;  but  we  were  eating  celestial  viands,  and 
my  black  butterflies  having  fled  away,  a  swarm 
of  their  gorgeous-tinted  kindred  were  flutter- 
ing radiantly  over  Miss  Esme  Falconer's  plate 
and  mine. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN   THE  RUE   ST.-DOMINIQUE 

ARRIVING  in  Paris  at  the  highly  incon- 
venient hour  of  8  A.  M.,  our  rapide  de- 
posited its  breakfastless  and  grumpy  passen- 
gers on  the  platform  of  the  Gare  de  Lyon, 
washed  its  hands  of  us  with  the  final  formality 
of  collecting  our  tickets,  and  turned  us  forth 
into  a  gray,  foggy  morning  to  seek  the  food 
and  shelter  adapted  to  our  purses  and  tastes. 
Every  one,  of  course,  emerged  from  seclusion 
only  at  the  ultimate  moment;  and,  far  from 
holding  any  lengthy  conversation  with  Miss 
Falconer,  I  was  lucky  to  stumble  upon  her  in 
the  vestibule,  help  her  descend,  find  a  taxi  for 
her  at  the  exit,  and  see  her  smile  back  at  me 
where  I  stood  hatless  as  she  drove  away. 

While  I  waited  for  my  own  cab  I  found  my- 
self besiege  Mr.  John  Van  Blarcom,  who  eyed 

133 


184    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

me  with  mingled  hostility  and  pity,  as  if  I  wer€ 
a  cross  between  a  lunatic  and  a  thief.  I  re- 
turned his  stare  coolly;  indeed,  I  found  i1 
braced  me.  Left  to  myself,  I  had  experiencec 
a  creeping  doubt  as  to  the  girl's  activities  anc 
my  own  intelligence ;  but  as  soon  as  this  f elloi^ 
glared  at  me,  all  my  confidence  returned. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  remarked  sardoni- 
cally, breaking  the  silence,  "I  suppose  you  'n 
worrying  for  fear  I  '11  give  you  another  piece  oi 
good  advice.  Don't  you  fret!  From  now  or 
you  can  hang  yourself  any  way  you  want  to 
I  'd  as  soon  talk  to  a  man  in  a  padded  cell  and 
a  strait- jacket.  Only  don't  blame  me  wher 
the  gendarmes  come  f^  you  next  week." 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil!**  I  retorted  curtly.  H 
was  a  relief ;  I  had  been  wB,nting  to  say  it  evei 
since  we  had  first  met.  l^is  jaw  shot  oul 
menacingly,  and  for  an  instant  he  squared  ofl 
from  me  with  the  look  of  the  professional 
boxer;  but,  rather  to  my  disapiX)intment,  he 
thought  better  of  it  and  turned  a  coatemptuom 
back. 

Upon  leaving  Genoa  I  had  resei-vod  a  room 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    135 

at  the  Ritz  by  telegraph.  I  drove  there  now, 
and  refreshed  myself  with  a  bath  and  breakfast, 
casting  about  me  meanwhile  for  some  mode  of 
occupying  the  hours  till  noon.  There  were 
various  tasks,  I  knew,  that  should  have  claimed 
me;  a  visit  to  the  police  to  secure  a  carte  de 
86 jour,  the  presentation  of  my  credentials  as 
an  ambulance-driver,  a  polite  notification  to 
friends  that  I  had  arrived.  These  things 
should  have  been  my  duty  and  pleasure,  but 
somehow  they  were  uninviting.  Nothing  ap- 
pealed to  me,  I  realized  with  sudden  enlighten- 
ment, except  a  certain  appointment  that  I  had 
already  made. 

I  went  out,  to  find  that  the  fog  was  lifting 
and  spring  was  in  the  air.  Since  my  dinner 
the  previous  night  I  had  felt  an  odd  exhilara- 
tion, a  pleasure  quickened  by  the  staccato 
sparkle  of  the  French  tongue  against  my  ears, 
the  pale-blue  uniforms,  and  gay  French  faces 
glimpsed  as  the  train  had  stopped  at  various 
lighted  stations.  Saluting  Napoleon's  statue, 
I  strolled  up  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  took  a  table  on 
a  cafe  pavement,  and,  ordering  a  glass  of  some- 


136    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

thing  fizzy  for  the  form  of  it,  sat  content  and 
happy,  watching  the  whole  gigantic  pageant  of 
Paris  in  war-time  defile  before  my  eyes. 

The  Cook's  tourists  and  their  like,  bane  of 
the  past,  had  disappeared ;  but  all  nationalities 
that  the  world  holds  seemed  to  be  about.  At 
the  next  table  two  Russian  officers,  with  high 
cheek-bones  and  wide-set  eyes,  were  drinking, 
chatting  together  in  their  purring,  unintelligi- 
ble tongue.  Beyond  them  a  party  of  English- 
men in  khaki,  cool-mannered,  clear  of  gaze, 
were  talking  in  low  tones  of  the  spring  offen- 
sive. The  uniforms  of  France  swarmed  round 
me  in  all  their  variety,  and  close  at  hand  a  gen- 
eral, gorgeous  in  red  and  blue  and  gold,  sat  with 
his  hand  resting  affectionately  on  the  knee  of  a 
lad  in  the  horizon  blue  of  a  simple  poilu,  who 
was  so  like  him  that  I  guessed  them  at  a  glance 
for  father  and  son. 

A  cab  drew  up  before  me,  and  a  Belgian 
officer  with  crutches  was  helped  out  by  the  cafe 
starter,  who  himself  limped  slightly  and  wore 
two  medals  on  his  breast.  First  one  troop  and 
then    another    defiled    across    the    Place    de 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    137 

rOpera:  a  company  of  infantry  with  bayonets 
mounted,  a  picturesque  regiment  of  Moroc- 
cans, turbaned,  of  magnificently  impassive 
bearing,  sitting  their  horses  like  images  of 
bronze.  Men  of  the  Flying  Corps,  in  dark 
blue  with  wings  on  their  sleeves,  strolled  past 
me;  and  once,  roused  by  exclamations  and 
pointing  fingers,  I  looked  up  to  see  a  mono- 
plane, light  and  graceful  as  a  darting  bird, 
skimming  above  our  heads. 

Even  the  faces  had  a  different  look,  the  voices 
a  different  ring.  It  was  another  country  from 
that  of  the  days  of  peace.  Superb  and  daunt- 
less, tried  by  the  most  searing  of  fires  and  not 
found  wanting,  France  was  standing  girt  with 
ler  shining  armor,  barring  the  invader  from  her 
cities,  her  villages,  her  homes. 

Deep  in  my  heart — too  deep  to  be  talked 
of  often — there  had  lain  always  a  tenderness 
for  this  heroic  France.  "A  man's  other  coun- 
try," some  wise  person  has  christened  it;  and  so 
it  was  for  me,  since  by  a  chance  I  had  been  born 
here,  and  since  here  my  father  and  then  my 
mother  had  died.     I  was  glad  I  had  run  the 


138    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

gauntlet  and  had  reached  Paris  to  do  my  part 
in  a  mighty  work.  An  ambulance  drove  heav- 
ily past  me,  and  with  a  thrill  I  wondered  how 
soon  I  should  bend  over  such  a  steering  wheel, 
within  sound  of  the  great  guns. 

Leaving  the  cafe  at  last,  I  beckoned  a  taxi 
and  settled  myself  on  its  cushions  for  a  drive. 
Each  new  vista  that  greeted  me  was  enchant- 
ing. The  pavements,  the  river,  the  buildings, 
the  stately  bridges, — all  held  the  same  soft, 
silvery  tint  of  pale  French  gray.  In  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  the  fountains  played  as  always, 
but — ^heart-warming  change — the  Strasburg 
statue,  symbol  of  the  lost  Lorraine  and  Alsace, 
no  longer  drooped  under  wreaths  of  mourning, 
but  sat  crowned  and  garlanded  with  trium- 
phant flowers. 

Like  diminishing  flies,  the  same  eternal 
swarm  of  cabs  and  motors  filled  the  long  vista 
of  the  Champs-Elysees  between  the  green 
branches  of  the  chestnut  trees.  At  the  end 
loomed  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  beneath  which 
the  hordes  of  the  kaiser,  in  their  first  madness 
of  conquest,  had  sworn  to  march.     Farther  on. 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    139 

in  the  Bois,  along  the  shady  paths  and  about 
the  lakes,  the  French  still  walked  in  safety,  be- 
cause on  the  frontier  their  soldiers  had  cried  to 
the  Teutons  the  famous  watchword,  "You  do 
not  pass!"  Noon  was  approaching,  and  at  the 
Porte  Maillot  I  consulted  Miss  Falconer's 
card. 

"Number  630,  rue  St.-Dominique,"  I  bade 
the  driver,  the  address  falling  comfortably  on 
my  ears.  I  knew  the  neighborhood.  Deep  in 
the  Faubourg  St.-Germain,  it  was  a  stronghold 
of  the  old  noblesse,  suggesting  eminent  respect- 
ability, ancient  and  honorable  customs,  and 
family  connections  of  a  highly  desirable  kind. 
It  would  be  a  point  in  Miss  Falconer's  favor  if 
I  found  her  conventionally  established — a  de- 
cided point.  Along  most  lines  I  was  in  the 
dark  concerning  her,  but  to  one  dictum  I  dared 
to  hold:  no  girl  of  twenty-two  or  thereabouts, 
more  than  ordinarily  attractive,  ought  to  be 
traveling  unchaperoned  about  this  wicked 
world. 

I  felt  very  cheerful,  very  contented,  as  my 
taxi  bore  me  into  old  Paris.     The  ancient 


140    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

streets  had  a  decided  lure  and  charm.  Now  we 
passed  a  quaint  church,  now  a  dim  and  winding 
alley,  now  a  house  with  mansard  windows  or  a 
portal  of  carved  stone.  On  all  sides  were 
buildings  that  in  the  old  days  had  been  the 
hotels  of  famous  gentry,  this  one  sheltering  a 
Montmorency,  that  one  a  Clisson  or  Soubise. 
It  was  just  the  setting  for  a  romance  by 
Dumas.  And,  with  a  chuckle,  I  felt  myself  in 
sudden  sympathy  with  that  writer's  heroes, 
none  of  whom  had,  it  seemed  to  me,  been  en- 
meshed in  a  mystery  more  baffling  or  involved 
than  mine. 

"They  Ve  got  nothing  on  my  affair,"  I  de- 
cided, "with  their  masks  and  poisoned  drinks 
and  swords.  For  a  fellow  who  leads  a  cut-and- 
dried  existence  generally,  I  've  been  having 
quite  a  lively  time.  And  now,  to  cap  the  cli- 
max, I  'm  going  to  call  on  a  girl  about  whom 
I  know  just  one  thing — her  name.  By  Jove, 
it 's  exactly  hke  a  story!  I  've  got  the  data. 
If  I  had  any  gray  matter  I  could  probably 
work  out  the  facts. 

"Take  the   St.  Ives  business.     It's  plain 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    141 

enough  that  some  one  wished  those  papers  on 
me,  intending  to  unwish  them  in  short  order 
once  we  got  across.  The  logical  suspect, 
judging  by  appearances,  was  Miss  Falconer. 
The  little  German  went  out  through  her  room ; 
she  was  the  one  person  I  saw  both  at  the  hotel 
and  on  the  Re  d'ltalia;  and  she  acted  in  a  sus- 
picious manner  that  first  night  aboard  the  ship. 
But  she  says  she  did  n't  do  it,  and  probably  she 
did  n't ;  it  seemed  infernally  odd,  all  along,  for 
her  to  be  a  spy. 

"Still,  if  she  is  innocent,  who  can  be  respon- 
sible? And  if  that  affair  did  n't  bring  her  over 
here,  what  the  dickens  did?  Something  mys- 
terious, something  dangerous,  something  that 
the  French  police  would  n't  appreciate,  but  that 
her  conscience  sanctions — that  is  all  she  deigns 
to  say.  And  why  on  earth  did  she  ask  me  to 
destroy  that  extra?  I  thought  it  was  because 
she  was  Franz  von  Blenheim's  agent  and  the 
paper  had  an  account  of  him  that  might  have 
served  as  a  clue  to  her.  She  says,  though,  that 
she  never  heard  of  him.  And  I  may  be  all 
kinds  of  a  fool,  but  it  sounded  straight. 


142    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Then,  there's  Van  Blarcom,  hang  him! 
He  seemed  to  take  a  fancy  to  me.  He  warned 
me  about  the  girl,  but  he  kept  a  still  tongue  to 
Captain  Cecchi  and  the  rest.  He  lied  delib- 
erately, for  no  earthly  reason,  to  shield  me  in 
that  interrogation;  yet  when  those  papers 
materialized  in  my  trunk,  though  he  must  have 
thought  just  what  I  thought  as  to  Miss  Fal- 
coner's share  in  it,  he  didn't  breathe  a  word. 
He  claimed  that  he  had  met  her.  She  said  she 
had  never  seen  him.  And  then — rather  strong 
for  a  coincidence — ^we  all  three  met  again  on 
the  express.  What  is  he  doing  on  this  side? 
Shadowing  her?  Nonsense!  And  yet  he 
seemed  almighty  keen  about  her — Oh,  hang  it! 
I  'm  no  Sherlock  Holmes!" 

The  taxi  pausing  at  this  juncture,  I  willingly 
abandoned  my  attempt  at  sleuthing  and  got 
out  in  the  highest  spirits  compatible  with  a 
strictly  correct  mien.  I  dismissed  my  driver. 
If  asked  to  remain  to  dejeuner,  I  should  cer- 
tainly do  so.  Then,  with  feelings  of  natural 
interest,  I  gazed  at  the  house  before  which  I 
stood. 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    143 

In  its  outward  seeming,  at  least,  it  was  all 
that  the  most  fastidious  could  have  required ;  a 
gem  of  Renaissance  architecture  in  its  turrets, 
its  quaint,  scrolled  windows,  and  the  carving  of 
its  stone  facade.  Age  and  romance  breathed 
from  every  inch  of  it.  For  not  less  than  four 
hundred  years  it  had  watched  the  changing  life 
of  Paris ;  and  even  to  a  lay  person  like  myself 
a  glance  proclaimed  it  one  of  those  ancestral 
hotels,  the  pride  of  noble  French  families, 
about  which  many  romantic  stories  cling. 

At  another  time  it  would  have  charmed  me 
hugely,  but  to-day,  as  T  stood  gazing,  somehow 
my  spirits  fell.  Was  it  the  almost  sepulchral 
silence  of  the  place,  the  careful  drawing  of 
every  shutter,  the  fact  that  the  grilled  gateway 
leading  to  the  court  of  honor  was  locked?  I 
did  not  know;  I  don't  know  yet;  but  I  had  an 
odd,  eerie  feeling.  It  seemed  like  a  place  of 
waiting,  of  watching,  and  of  gloom. 

This  was  unreasonable;  it  was  even  down- 
right ridiculous.  I  began  to  think  that  late 
events  were  throwing  me  off  my  base.  "It 's 
a  house  like  any  other,  and  a  jolly  fine  old  one  1'' 


144    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

I  assured  myself,  approaching  the  grilled  en- 
trance and  producing  one  of  my  cards. 

An  entirely  modem  electric  button  was 
installed  there,  beneath  a  now  merely  orna- 
nental  knocker  in  grotesque  gargoyle  form.  I 
pressed  it,  peering  through  the  iron  latticework 
at  the  stately  court.  The  answer  was  prompt. 
Down  the  steps  of  the  hotel  came  a  white- 
headed  majordomo,  gorgeously  arrayed,  and 
so  pictorial  that  he  might  have  been  a  family 
retainer  stepping  from  the  pages  of  an  old  tale. 

There  was  something  queer  about  him,  I 
thought,  as  he  crossed  the  courtyard;  just  as 
there  was  about  the  house,  I  appended  dog- 
gedly, with  growing  belief.  His  air  was  trem- 
ulous, his  step  slow,  his  gaze  far-off  and 
anxious. 

"For  Miss  Falconer,  who  waits  for  me,"  I 
announced  in  French,  offering  him  my  card 
through  the  grille. 

He  bowed  to  me  with  the  deference  of  a 
Latin,  the  grand  manner  of  an  ambassador; 
but  he  made  no  motion  to  let  me  in. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  "sends  all  her 


IN  THE  RUE  ST.-DOMINIQUE    145 

excuses,  all  her  regrets  to  monsieur,  but  she 
leaves  Paris  within  the  hour  and,  therefore, 
may  not  receive." 

I  had  feared  it  for  a  good  sixty  seconds. 
None  the  less,  it  was  a  blow  to  me.  My  sus- 
picions, never  more  than  half  laid,  promptly 
raised  their  heads  again. 

"Have  the  kindness,"  I  requested,  with  a 
calm  air  of  command  that  I  had  known  to  prove 
hypnotic,  "to  convey  my  card  to  mademoiselle, 
and  to  say  that  I  beg  of  her,  before  her  depart- 
ure, one  little  instant  of  speech." 

But  the  old  fellow's  faded  blue  eyes  were 
gazing  past  me,  hopelessly  sad,  supremely 
mournful.  What  the  deuce  ailed  him?  I  won- 
dered angrily.  The  thing  was  almost  weird. 
Of  a  sudden,  with  irritation,  yet  with  dread, 
too,  I  felt  myself  on  the  threshold  of  a  house  of 
tragedy.  The  man  might,  from  the  look  of 
him,  have  been  watching  some  loved  young 
master's  bier. 

"Mademoiselle  regrets  greatly,"  he  intoned, 
"but  she  may  not  receive.  Mademoiselle  sends 
this  letter  to  monsieur  that  he  may  under- 


146    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

stand."  He  passed  me,  through  the  locked 
grille,  a  slender  missive;  then  he  saluted  me 
once  more  and,  still  staring  before  him  with 
that  fixed,  uncanny  look,  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  GEAY   CAE 

1WAS  divided  between  exasperation  and 
pity.  The  old  fellow  was  in  a  bad  way; 
I  felt  sorry  for  him.  Dunny  had  an  ancient 
butler,  a  household  institution,  who  had  pre- 
sided over  our  destinies  since  my  childhood  and 
would,  I  fancied,  look  something  like  this  if  he 
should  hear  that  I  was  dead.  But  in  heaven's 
name,  what  was  wrong  here,  and  was  nothing 
in  the  world  clear  and  aboveboard  any  longer? 
On  the  chance  that  the  letter  might  enlighten 
me  I  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  with 
mixed  feelings  the  following  note : 

Dear  Mr.  Bayne: 

The  news  that  I  found  waiting  for  me  was  not 
good,  as  I  had  hoped.  It  was  bad,  very  bad — as  bad 
as  news  can  be.  I  must  leave  Paris  at  once,  and  I 
can  see  no  one,  talk  to  no  one,  before  I  go.     Please 

147 


148    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

believe  that  I  am  sorry,  and  that  I  shall  never  forget 
the  kindness  you  showed  me  on  the  ship. 
Sincerely  yours, 

EsME  Falconer. 

That  was  all.  Well,  the  episode  was  ended 
— ended,  moreover,  with  a  good  deal  of  cava- 
lierness.  She  had  treated  me  like  a  meddle- 
some, pertinacious  idiot  who  had  insisted  on 
calling  and  had  to  be  taught  his  place.  This 
was  a  Christian  country  where  the  formalities 
of  life  prevailed;  I  could  not — unless  escorted 
and  countenanced  by  gendarmes — seize  upon  a 
club  and  batter  down  that  grille. 

I  was  resentful,  wrathful,  in  the  very  deuce 
of  a  humor.  Black  gloom  settled  over  me.  I 
admitted  that  Van  Blarcom  had  been  right.  I 
recalled  the  girl's  vague  explanations  as  we  sat 
over  our  dinner;  her  denials,  unbolstered  save 
by  my  willingness  to  accept  them ;  all  the  chain 
of  incriminating  circumstances  that  I  had  pon- 
dered over  in  the  cab.  Her  charm  and  the 
mystery  that  enveloped  her  had  thrilled  and 
stirred  me;  she  had  seen  it.  To  gain  a  few 
hours'  leeway  she  had  once  again  duped  me; 


THE  GRAY  CAR  149 

and  this  hotel,  with  its  deceptive  air  of  family 
and  respectability,  was  a  blind,  a  rendezvous, 
another  such  setting  for  intrigue  as  the  St. 
Ives. 

Her  work  might  be  already  accomplished. 
Perhaps  she  had  left  Paris.  I  told  myself 
with  some  savageness  that  I  did  not  know  and 
did  not  care.  From  the  first  my  presence  in 
this  luridly  adventurous  galley  had  been  in- 
congruous ;  I  would  get  back  with  all  despatch 
to  the  Ritz  and  the  orderly  world  it  typified. 

I  had  gone  perhaps  twenty  feet  when  a  grat- 
ing noise  attracted  me.  Glancing  back  across 
my  shoulder,  I  saw  that  the  old  majordomo  was 
unlocking  and  setting  wide  the  gate.  The  hum 
of  a  self-starter  reached  me  faintly,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  there  rolled  slowly  forth  a  dark-blue 
touring-car  of  luxurious  aspect,  driven  by  a 
chauffeur  whose  coat  and  cap  and  goggles  gave 
him  rather  the  appearance  of  a  leather  brownie, 
and  bearing  in  the  tonneau  Miss  Falconer, 
elaborately  coated  and  veiled. 

She  was  turning  to  the  right,  not  the  left; 
she  would  not  pass  me.     I  stood  transfixed. 


150    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

watching  from  my  post  against  the  wall.  As 
the  car  crept  by  the  old  majordomo,  he  sa- 
luted, and  she  spoke  to  him,  bending  forward 
for  a  moment  to  rest  her  fingers  on  his  sleeve. 

"Be  of  courage.  Marcel,  my  friend!  All 
will  be  well  if  le  hon  Dieu  wills  it,"  I  heard  her 
say.  Then,  to  the  chauffeur  she  added :  "En 
avant,  Georges!  Fite,  a  Bleau!"  The  motor 
snorted  as  the  car  gained  speed,  and  they  were 
gone. 

The  ancient  Marcel,  reentering,  locked  the 
grille  behind  him.  I  was  left  alone,  more 
astounded  than  before.  The  girl's  kind  speech 
to  the  old  servant,  her  gentle  tones,  her 
womanly  gesture,  had  been  bewildering.  De- 
spite all  the  accusing  features  her  case  offered, 
I  should  have  said  just  then,  as  I  watched  Miss 
Esme  Falconer,  that  she  was  nothing  more  or 
less  than  a  superlatively  nice  girl. 

''Honk!    Honk!    Honkr 

I  swung  round,  startled.  A  moment  earlier 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  street  had 
stretched  before  me,  empty;  yet  now  I  saw, 
sprung  apparently  out  of  nowhere,  a  long, 


THE  GRAY  CAR  151 

lean,  gray  car,  low-built  like  a  racer,  carrying 
four  masked  and  goggled  men.  Steadily  gain- 
ing speed  as  it  came,  it  bore  down  upon  me  and, 
after  grazing  me  with  its  running-board  and 
nearly  deafening  me  with  the  powerful  blast 
of  its  horn,  flew  on  down  the  street  and  van- 
ished in  Miss  Falconer's  wake. 

Trying  to  clarify  my  emotions,  I  stared 
after  this  Juggernaut.  Was  it  merely  the 
sudden  appearance  of  the  thing,  its  look,  so 
lean  and  snake-like  and  somber-colored,  and 
the  muffled  air  of  its  occupants  that  had  struck 
me  as  sinister  when  it  went  flashing  by?  I 
was  n't  sure,  but  I  had  formed  the  impression 
that  these  men  were  following  Miss  Falconer. 
A  patently  foolish  ideal    And  yet,  and  yet — 

My  experiences  at  the  St.  Ives  and  on  the 
Re  d'ltalia  had  contributed  to  my  education. 
I  could  no  longer  deny  that  melodrama,  how- 
ever unwelcome,  did  sometimes  intrude  itself 
into  the  most  unlikely  lives.  The  girl  was 
bound  somewhere  on  a  secret  purpose.  Could 
these  four  men  be  her  accomplices?  Were 
they  going  too? 


152    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"A  Bleau!" 

Those  had  been  her  words  to  the  chauffeur; 
for  Bleau,  then,  she  was  bound.  But  where 
did  such  a  place  exist?  I  had  never  heard  of 
it;  and  yet  I  possessed,  I  flattered  myself, 
through  the  medium  of  motor-touring,  a  fairly 
comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  map  of 
France. 

The  aff*air  was  becoming  a  veritable  night- 
mare. It  seemed  incredible  that  a  few  minutes 
earlier  I  had  resolved  to  wash  my  hands  of  it 
all.  If  the  girl  had  a  disloyal  mission,  it  was 
my  plain  duty  to  intercept  her.  I  could  not 
denounce  her  to  the  police.  I  did  n't  analyze 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  my  inability  to  take 
this  step;  I  simply  knew  and  accepted  it.  If 
I  interfered  with  what  she  was  doing,  I  must 
interfere  quietly,  alone. 

Ordinarily  I  have  as  much  imagination  as  a 
turnip,  but  now  I  indulged  in  a  sudden  and 
surprising  flight  of  fancy.  Might  it  be,  I 
found  myself  wondering,  that  the  men  in  the 
gray  car  were  not  Miss  Falconer's  accomplices, 
but  her  pursuers?    In  that  case,  high  as  was 


THE  GRAY  CAR  153 

her  courage,  keen  as  were  her  wits, — I  found 
myself  thinking  of  them  with  a  sort  of  pride, — 
she  was  laboring  under  a  handicap  of  which  she 
could  not  dream. 

Again,  where  had  that  long,  lean,  pursuing 
streak  sprung  from?  Could  it  have  lurked 
somewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  spying  on  the 
hotel  that  Miss  Falconer  had  just  left,  waiting 
for  her  to  emerge?  I  was  aware  of  my  ab- 
surdity, but  I  could  n't  put  an  end  to  it ;  with 
each  instant  that  went  by  my  uneasiness  seemed 
to  grow.  So  I  yielded,  not  without  qualms  as 
to  whether  the  quarter  would  take  me  for  a  gib- 
bering idiot.  Grimly  and  doggedly  I  stalked 
the  length  of  the  rue  St.-Dominique,  and  the 
stately  houses  on  both  sides  seemed  to  scorn  me, 
their  shutters  to  eye  me  pityingly,  as  I  peered 
to  right  and  left  for  the  possible  cache  of  the 
car. 

And  within  four  hundred  feet  I  found  it. 
Against  all  reason  and  probability,  there  it 
was.  At  my  left  there  opened  unostentatiously 
one  of  those  short,  dark,  neglected  blind  alleys 
so  common  in  the  older  part  of  Paris,  with  the 


154    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

houses  meeting  over  it  and  forming  an  arched 
roof.  Running  back  twenty  feet  or  so,  it 
ended  in  a  blank  wall  of  stone;  and,  amid  the 
dust  and  debris  that  covered  its  rough  paving, 
I  distinctly  made  out  the  tracks  of  tires,  with 
between  them,  freshly  spilt,  a  tiny,  gleaming 
pool  of  oil. 

At  this  psychological  moment  a  taxicab  came 
meandering  up  the  street.  It  was  unoccu- 
pied, but  its  red  flag  was  turned  down.  The 
driver  shook  his  head  vigorously  as  I  signaled 
him. 

"I  go  to  my  dejev/ner.  Monsieur!"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  I  fiercely,  "you  go  to 
the  tourist  bureau  of  Monsieur  Cook  in  the 
Place  de  FOpera,  at  the  greatest  speed  the 
ser gents  de  ville  allow!" 

I  must  have  mesmerized  him,  for  he  took  me 
there  obediently,  casting  hunted  glances  back 
at  me  from  time  to  time  when  the  traffic  mo- 
mentarily halted  us,  as  if  fearing  to  find  that  I 
was  leveling  a  pistol  at  his  head. 

It  being  noon,  the  office  of  the  tourist  bureau 


THE  GRAY  CAR  155 

was  almost  deserted,  a  single,  bored-looking, 
young  French  clerk  keeping  vigil  behind  the 
travelers'  counter.  With  the  sociable  instinct 
of  his  nation  he  brightened  up  at  my  appear- 
ance. 

"I  want,"  I  annoimced,  "to  ask  about  trains 
to  Bleau." 

For  a  moment  he  looked  blank;  then  he 
smiled  in  understanding. 

"Monsieur  is  without  doubt  an  artist,"  he  de- 
clared. 

I  was  not,  decidedly ;  but  the  words  had  been 
an  affirmation  and  not  a  question.  It  seemed 
clear  that  for  some  cryptic  reason  I  ought  to 
have  been  an  artist.  Accordingly,  I  thought  it 
best  to  bow. 

He  seemed  childishly  pleased  with  his 
acumen. 

"Monsieur  will  understand,"  he  explained, 
"that  before  the  war  we  sold  tickets  to  many 
artists,  who,  like  monsieur,  desired  to  paint  the 
old  mill  on  the  stream  near  Bleau.  It  has  ap- 
peared at  the  Salon  many  times,  that  milll 
Also,  we  have  furnished  tickets  to  archaeolo- 


156    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

gists  who  desired  to  see  the  ruins  of  the  antique 
chapel,  a  veritable  gem !  But  monsieur  has  not 
an  archaeologist's  aspect.  Therefore,  monsieur 
is  an  artist." 

"Perfectly,"  I  agreed. 

"As  to  the  trains,"  he  continued  contentedly, 
"there  is  but  one  a  day.  It  departs  at  two  and 
a  half  hours,  upon  the  Le  Moreau  route. 
Monsieur  will  be  wise  to  secure,  before  leaving 
Paris,  a  safe-conduct  from  the  prefecture;  for 
the  village  is,  as  one  might  say,  on  the  edge  of 
the  zone  of  war.  With  such  a  permit  monsieur 
will  find  his  visit  charming;  regrettable  inci- 
dents will  not  occur;  undesirable  conjectures 
about  monsieur's  identity  will  not  be  roused. 
I  should  strongly  advise  that  monsieur  provide 
himself  with  such  a  credential,  though  it  is  not, 
perhaps,  absolutely  de  rigueur" 

Back  in  my  room  at  the  Ritz,  I  consulted  my 
w^atch.  It  was  a  quarter  of  two ;  certainly  time 
had  marched  apace.  Should  I,  like  a  sensible 
man,  descend  to  the  restaurant  and  enjoy  a 
sample  of  the  justly  famous  cuisine  of  the  ho- 
tel?   Or  should  I  throw  all  reason  overboard 


THE  GRAY  CAR  157 

and  post  oflP  on — what  was  it  Diinny  had  called 
my  mission — a  wild-goose  chase? 

I  glanced  at  myself  in  the  mirror  and  shook 
a  disapproving  head.  "You  're  no  knight- 
errant,"  I  told  my  impassive  image.  "You  're 
too  correct,  too  indifferent-looking  altogether. 
Better  not  get  beyond  your  depth !"  I  decided 
for  luncheon,  followed  by  a  leisurely  knotting 
of  the  threads  of  my  Parisian  acquaintance. 
Then,  as  if  some  malign  hypnotist  had  pro- 
jected it  before  me,  I  saw  again  a  vision  of  that 
flashing,  lean,  gray  car. 

"I  'm  hanged  if  I  don't  have  a  shot  at  this 
thing!" 

The  words  seemed  to  pop  out  of  my  mouth 
entirely  of  their  own  accord.  By  no  conscious 
agency  of  my  own,  I  found  myself  madly  hurl- 
ing collars,  handkerchiefs,  toilet  articles,  what- 
ever I  seemed  likeliest  to  need  in  a  brief  jour- 
ney, into  a  bag.  Lastly  I  realized  that  I  was 
standing,  hat  in  hand,  overcoat  across  my  arm, 
considering  my  revolver,  and  wondering 
whether  taking  it  with  me  would  be  too  stagy 
and  absurd. 


158    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"No  more  so  than  all  the  rest  of  it,"  I  de- 
cided, shrugging.  Dropping  the  thing  into 
my  pocket,  I  made  for  the  ascenseur, 

"I  shan't  be  back  to-night,"  I  informed  the 
hall  porter  woodenly.  "Or  perhaps  to-mor- 
row night.     But,  of  course,  I  'm  keeping  my 


room." 


With  his  wish  for  a  charming  trip  to  speed 
me,  I  left  the  Ritz,  and  luckily  no  vision  was 
vouchsafed  me  of  the  condition  in  which  I 
should  return :  Two  crutches,  a  bandaged  head, 
an  utterly  disreputable  aspect;  my  bedraggled 
state  equaled — and  this  I  would  maintain  with 
swords  and  pistols  if  necessary — that  of  any 
poilu  of  them  all. 

As  I  drove  toward  the  station,  various  head- 
lines stared  at  me  from  the  kiosks.  "Franz 
von  Blenheim  Rumored  on  Way  to  France," 
ran  one  of  them.  Hang  Franz.  I  had  had 
enough  of  him  to  last  the  rest  of  my  life. 
"Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour  Still  Missing,"  pro- 
claimed another.  I  knew  something  about 
him,  too ;  but  what  ?  Ah,  to  be  sure,  he  was  the 
Firefly  of  France,  the  hero  of  the  Flying 


THE  GRAY  CAR  159 

Corps,  the  young  nobleman  of  whose  suspected 
treason  I  had  read  in  that  extra  on  the  ship. 
In  that  damned  extra,  I  amended,  with  natural 
feeling.  For  it  was  like  Rome;  everything 
seemed  to  lead  its  way. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  THE  THREE   KINGS 

'T  If  THAT  'S  the  best  hotel  in  the  place?"  I 
V  V  inquired  somewhat  dubiously.  The 
man  in  the  blouse,  who  had  performed  the 
three  functions  of  opening  my  compartment- 
door,  carrying  my  bag  to  the  gate,  and  reliev- 
ing me  of  my  ticket,  achieved  a  thoroughly 
Gallic  shrug. 

"Monsieur,"  said  he,  "what  shall  I  tell  you? 
The  best  hotel,  the  worst  hotel — these  are  one. 
There  is  only  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Rois  in  the 
town  of  Bleau.  Let  monsieur  proceed  by  the 
Street  of  the  Three  Kings  and  he  will  reach  it. 
Formerly  there  was  an  omnibus,  but  now  the 
horses  are  taken.  And  if  they  remained,  who 
could  drive  them  with  all  the  men  at  the  war?" 

Carrying  my  bag  and  feeling  none  too  ami- 
able, I  set  off  along  the  indicated  route.     In 

160 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       161 

Paris,  rushing  from  the  rue  St.-Dominique  to 
Cook's  office,  from  that  office  to  the  hotel,  from 
the  hotel  to  the  gare,  I  had  been  a  sort  of  whirl- 
ing dervish  with  no  time  for  sober  thought. 
My  trip  of  four  hours  on  a  slow,  stuffy, 
crowded  train  had,  however,  afforded  me  ample 
leisure;  and  I  had  spent  the  time  in  grimly 
envisaging  the  possibilities  that,  I  decided,  were 
most  likely  to  befall. 

First  and  most  disagreeable:  that  the  men 
in  the  gray  automobile  were  helping  Miss  Fal- 
coner in  some  nefarious  business.  In  this  case, 
it  would  be  up  to  me  to  fight  the  gentlemen 
single-handed,  rescue  the  girl,  and  escort  her 
back  to  Paris,  all  without  scandal.  Easier  said 
than  done! 

Second  possibility :  that  Miss  Falconer,  paus- 
ing at  Bleau  only  en  route,  might  already  have 
departed,  and  that  I  would  be  left  with  my 
journey  for  my  pains. 

Third:  that  the  gray  car  had  no  connection 
with  her;  that  she  had  some  entirely  blameless 
errand.  I  hoped  so,  I  was  sure.  If  this  proved 
true,  I  was  bound  to  stand  branded  as  a  med- 


162    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

dling,  officious  idiot,  one  who,  in  defiance  of 
the  most  elementary  social  rules,  persisted  in 
trailing  her  against  her  will.  Vastly  pleasant, 
indeed  I 

Fuming,  I  shifted  my  bag  from  one  hand  to 
the  other  and  walked  faster.  Night  was  fall- 
ing, but  it  was  not  yet  really  dark,  and  I 
formed  a  clear  enough  notion  of  the  village  as 
I  traversed  it.  It  was  one  of  the  hundreds  of 
its  kind  which  make  an  artists'  paradise  of 
France.  Entirely  unmodemized,  it  was  the 
more  picturesque  for  that.  If  I  tripped  some- 
times on  the  roughly  paved  street  I  could  con- 
sole myself  with  the  knowledge  that  these  cob- 
bles, like  the  odd,  jutting  houses  rising  on 
both  sides  of  them,  were  at  least  three  hundred 
years  old.  Green  woods,  clear  against  a  back- 
ground of  rosy  sunset,  ran  up  to  the  very  bor- 
ders of  the  town.  I  passed  a  little,  gray  old 
church.  I  crossed  a  quaint  bridge  built  over 
a  winding  stream  lined  with  dwellings  and 
broken  by  mossy  washing-stones.  It  was  all 
very  peaceful,  very  simple,  and  very  rustic. 
Without  second  sight  I  could  not  possibly  have 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       163 

visioned  the  grim  little  drama  for  which  it  was 
to  serve  as  setting. 

A  blue  sign  with  gilded  letters  beckoned  me, 
and  I  paused  to  read  it.  The  Touring  Club 
of  France  recommended  to  the  passing 
stranger  the  Hotel  of  the  Three  Kings.  Here 
I  was,  then.  From  the  street  a  dark,  arched, 
stone  passage  of  distinctly  moyen-dge  flavor 
led  me  into  a  courtyard  paved  with  great  square 
cobbles,  round  the  four  sides  of  which  were 
built  the  walls  of  the  inn.  Winding,  some- 
what crazy-looking,  stone  staircases  ran  up  to 
the  galleries  from  which  the  bedroom  doors 
informally  opened;  vines,  as  yet  leafless, 
wreathed  the  gray  walls  and  framed  the  shut- 
tered windows ;  before  me  I  glimpsed  a  kitchen 
with  a  magnificent  oaken  ceiling  and  a  me- 
dieval fireplace  in  which  a  fire  roared  redly ;  and 
at  my  right  yawned  what  had  doubtless  been 
a  stable  once  upon  a  time,  but  with  the  advent 
of  the  motor,  had  become  a  primitive  garage. 

I  took  the  liberty  of  peering  inside. 
Eureka!  There,  resting  comfortably  from  its 
day's  labors,  stood  a  dark-blue  automobile. 


164    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

If  this  was  not  the  motor  that  had  brought 
Miss  Falconer  from  the  rue  St.-Dominique,  it 
was  its  twin. 

"You  '11  notice  it 's  alone,  though,"  I  told 
myself.     "Where's  the  gray  car?" 

My  mood  was  grumpy  in  the  extreme.  The 
inn  was  charming,  but  I  knew  from  sad  ex- 
perience that  no  place  combines  all  attractions, 
and  that  a  spot  so  picturesque  as  this  would 
probably  lack  running  water  and  electric  light. 

"Bonsoir,  Monsieur!" 

A  buxom,  smiling,  bare-armed  woman  had 
emerged  from  the  kitchen  door.  She  was 
plainly  the  hostess.  I  set  down  my  bag  and 
removed  my  hat. 

"Madame,"  I  responded,  "I  wish  you  a  good 
evening.  I  desire  a  room  for  the  night  in  the 
Hotel  of  the  Three  Kings." 

"To  accommodate  monsieur,"  she  assured 
me  warmly,  "will  be  a  pleasure.  Monsieur  is 
an  artist  without  doubt?" 

I  wanted  to  say  "Et  tu.  Brute!"  But  I 
did  n't.  When  one  came  to  think  of  it,  I  had 
no  very  good  reason  to  advance  for  having  ap- 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       165 

peared  at  Bleau.  It  was  n't  the  sort  of  place 
into  which  one  would  drop  from  the  skies  by- 
pure  chance,  either.  I  was  lucky  to  find  a 
ready-made  explanation. 

"But  assuredly,"  said  I. 

She  disappeared  into  the  kitchen,  returned 
immediately  with  a  candle,  and  led  me  up  the 
stone  staircase  on  the  left  of  the  courtyard, 
talking  volubly  all  the  while. 

"We  have  had  many  artists  here,"  she  de- 
clared; "many  friends  of  monsieur,  doubtless. 
Since  monsieur  is  of  that  fine  profession,  his 
room  will  be  but  four  francs  daily ;  his  dinner, 
three  francs;  his  little  breakfast,  a  franc  alone." 

"Madame,"  I  responded,  "it  is  plain  that  the 
high  cost  of  living,  which  terrorizes  my  coun- 
try, does  not  exist  at  Bleau." 

Equally  plain,  I  thought  pessimistically, 
was  the  explanation.  My  saddest  forebodings 
were  realized;  if  the  name  of  the  hotel  meant 
anything  and  three  kings  had  ever  tarried 
here,  that  conjunction  of  sovereigns  had  put 
up  with  housing  of  a  distinctly  primitive  sort. 
My  room  was  clean,  I  acknowledged  thank- 


166    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

fully,  but  that  was  all  I  could  say  for  it.  I 
eyed  the  bowl  and  pitcher  gloomily,  the  hard- 
looking  bed,  the  tiny  square  of  carpeting  in 
the  center  of  the  stone  floor. 

"Your  house,  Madame,"  I  suggested  craft- 
ily, with  a  view  to  reconnoissance,  "is,  of 
course,  full?" 

She  heaved  a  sigh. 

"It  is  war-time.  Monsieur,"  she  lamented. 
"None  travel  now.  Yet  why  should  I  mourn, 
since  I  make  enough  to  keep  me  till  the  war  is 
ended  and  my  man  comes  home?  There  are 
those  who  eat  here  daily  at  the  noon  hour — 
the  cure,  the  mayor,  the  mayor's  secretary, 
sometimes  the  notary  of  the  town,  as  well. 
And  to-night  I  have  two  guests,  monsieur  and 
the  young  lady — the  nurse  who  goes  to  the 
hospital  at  Carrefonds  with  the  great  new 
remedy  for  burns  and  scars.  Au  revoir, 
Monsieur,  In  one  little  moment  I  will  send 
the  hot  water,  and  in  half  an  hour  monsieur 
shall  dine." 

I  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  flung  down 
my  bag,  fuming.     So  Miss  Falconer  was  a 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       167 

nurse,  carrying  a  panacea  to  the  wounded, 
doubtless  a  specimen  of  the  sensational  new 
remedy  just  recognized  by  the  medical  authori- 
ties, of  which  the  one  newspaper  I  had  glanced 
through  in  Paris  had  been  full.  The  mas- 
querade was  too  preposterous  to  gain  an  in- 
stant's credence.  It  gave  me,  as  the  French 
say,  furiously  to  think;  it  resolved  all  doubts. 

I  felt  inexplicably  angry,  then  pretemat- 
urally  cool  and  competent.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  Modane  episode  I  was  my  clear- 
sighted self.  I  had  been  trjring  futilely  to 
bhndfold  my  eyes,  to  explain  the  inexplicable, 
to  be  unaware  of  the  obvious.  Now  with  a 
sort  of  grim  relief  I  looked  the  facts  in  the 
face. 

My  hot  water  appearing,  I  made  a  sketchy 
toilet,  and  then  descended  to  the  courtyard 
where  I  lounged  and  smoked.  My  state  of 
mind  was  peculiar.  As  I  struck  a  match  I 
noticed  with  a  queer  pride  that  my  hand  was 
steady.  With  a  cold,  almost  sardonic  clarity, 
I  thought  of  Miss  Falconer.  First  a  prosper- 
ous tourist,  next  a  dweller  in  an  aristocratic 


168    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

French  mansion,  then  a  nurse.  She  equaled,  I 
told  myself,  certain  heroines  of  our  Sunday 
supplements,  queens  of  the  smugglers,  moving 
spirits  of  the  diamond  ring. 

Up-stairs  in  the  right-hand  gallery  a  door 
opened.  A  light  footstep  sounded  on  the 
winding  stairs.  The  critical  moment  was  upon 
me;  she  was  coming.  I  threw  away  my  ciga- 
rette and  advanced. 

She  was  playing  her  part,  I  saw,  with  due 
regard  for  detail.  Now  that  her  furs  were  off 
she  stood  forth  in  the  white  costume,  the  flow- 
ing head-dress,  the  red  cross — all  the  panoply 
of  the  infirmiere.  She  came  half-way  down 
the  stairs  before  perceiving  me;  then,  with  a 
low  exclamation,  grasping  the  balustrade,  she 
stood  still. 

I  did  n't  even  pretend  surprise.  What  was 
the  use  of  it? 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Falconer,"  was  all  I 
said. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  she  answered. 
Rigid,  uncompromising,  she  faced  me;  and  I 
read  storm  signals  in  the  deep  flush  of  hei 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       169 

cheeks,  the  gray  flash  of  her  eyes,  the  stiffness 
of  her  white-draped  head. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  I  groaned  to  myself  in  cold 
compassion,  "she  means  to  bluff  it!  Can't 
she  see  that  the  game  's  played  out?" 

"This  is  very  strange,  Mr.  Bayne,"  she  was 
saying  icily.  "I  understood  that  you  were  to 
drive  an  ambulance  at  the  Front." 

How  young,  how  lovely,  how  glowing  she 
looked  as  she  stood  there  in  her  snowy  dress. 
I  found  myself  wondering  impersonally  what 
had  led  her  to  these  devious  paths. 

"So  I  am,"  I  responded  with  accentuated 
coolness.  "My  time  is  valuable;  it  was  a  sac- 
rifice to  come  to  Bleau;  but  I  had  no  choice. 
What 's  wrong.  Miss  Falconer?  You  don't 
object  to  my  presence  surely?  If  you  go  on 
freezing  me  like  this,  I  shall  think  there 's 
something  about  my  turning  up  here  that  wor- 
ries you — upon  my  soul  I  shall!" 

She  should  by  rights  have  been  trembling, 
but  her  eyes  blazed  at  me  disdainfully.  I  felt 
almost  like  a  caitiff,  whatever  that  may  be. 

"It  doesn't  worry  me,"  she  denied,  with 


170    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

the  same  crisp  iciness,  "but  it  does  surprise  me. 
Will  you  tell  me,  please,  what  you  are  doing 
here?" 

Should  I  return,  "And  you?"  in  a  voice  of 
obvious  meaning?  Should  I  take  a  leaf  from 
the  book  of  my  hostess  and  say:  "I  'm  a  bit 
of  an  artist.  I  've  sketched  all  over  Europe, 
and  I  Ve  come  to  have  a  go  at  the  old  mill 
that  so  many  fellows  try"?  Such  a  claim 
would  just  match  the  assumption  of  her  cos- 
tume.   But  no. 

"The  fact  is,"  I  said  serenely,  "I  came 
straight  from  the  rue  St.-Dominique  to  keep 
the  appointment  you  forgot." 

The  announcement,  it  was  plain,  exasperated 
her,  for  slightly,  but  undeniably,  she  stamped 
one  arched,  slender,  attractively  shod  foot. 

"Mr.  Bayne,"  she  demanded,  "are  you  a 
secret-service  agent?" 

"Good  heavens!"  I  exclaimed,  startled. 
"No!" 

"Then  I  'm  sorry.  That  would  have  been 
a  better  reason  for  following  me  than — than 
the  only  one  there  is,"  she  swept  on  stormily. 


AT  THE  THREE  KINGS       171 

"You  knew  I  didn't  wish  to  see  any  one  at 
present.  I  said  so  in  the  note  I  left.  Yet  you 
spied  on  me  and  you  tracked  me  deliberately, 
when  I  had  trusted  you  with  my  address.  It 's 
outrageous  of  you.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  doing  it,  Mr.  Bayne." 

A  stunned  realization  burst  on  me  of  the  line 
that  she  was  taking,  the  position  into  which, 
willy-nilly,  she  was  crowding  me.  I  had 
trailed  her  here,  she  assumed,  to  thrust  my 
company  on  her;  and,  upon  the  surface,  I  had 
to  own  that  my  behavior  really  had  that  air. 
If  I  had  followed  her  with  equal  brazenness 
along  Fifth  Avenue,  I  should  have  had  a  chance 
to  explain  my  conduct  to  the  first  police  offi- 
cer who  noticed  it,  later  to  an  indignant  magis- 
trate. But,  heavens  and  earth!  She  knew 
why  I  had  come.  And  knowing,  how  did  she 
dare  defy  me?  I  retained  just  sufficient  pres- 
ence of  mind  to  stare  back  impassively  and  to 
mumble  with  feeble  sarcasm: 

"I  'm  very  sorry  you  think  so." 

She  came  down  a  step. 

"Are  you?"  she  asked  imperiously.    "Then 


172    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

— ^will  you  prove  it?  Will  you  go  back  to 
Paris  by  to-night's  train?" 

I  had  recovered  myself. 

"There  isn't  any  train  to-night,"  I  pro- 
tested, civil,  but  adamant.  "And — I  'm  sorry, 
but  if  there  was  I  would  n't  take  it — ^not  imtil 
I  've  accomphshed  what  I  came  to  do!" 

The  girl  seemed  to  concentrate  all  the 
world's  disdain  in  the  look  that  measured  me, 
running  from  my  head  to  my  unoffending  feet, 
from  my  feet  back  to  my  head. 

"Most  men  would  go,  Mr.  Bayne,"  she  flung 
at  me,  her  red  lips  scornful.  "But  then,  most 
men  would  n't  have  come,  of  course.  And  all 
you  will  accomplish  is  to  make  me  dine  up  here 
in  this — this  wretched,  stuffy  room."  Before 
I  could  lift  a  hand  in  protest,  she  had  turned, 
mounted  the  stairs  again,  and  vanished.  The 
door — shall  I  own  it? — slammed. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  PLOT  THICKENS 

PRESENTLY,  summoned  by  the  hostess, 
I  went  to  my  lonely  meal  in  a  mood  that 
nobody  on  earth  had  cause  to  envy  me.  One 
thing  was  certain :  Should  it  ever  be  disclosed 
that  Miss  Esme  Falconer  was  not  a  spy,  I 
should  lack  courage  to  go  on  living.  Remem- 
bering the  coolly  brazen  line  I  had  taken  and 
the  assumptions  she  had  drawn  from  it,  I  could 
think  of  no  desert  wide  enough  to  hide  my  con- 
fusion, no  pit  sufficiently  deep  to  shelter  my  ut- 
terly crestfallen  head. 

In  any  case,  I  had  not  managed  my  attack 
at  all  triumphantly.  From  the  first  skirmish 
the  adversary  had  retired  with  all  the  honors 
on  her  side.  Carrying  the  matter  with  a  high 
hand,  she  had  dazed  me  into  brief  inaction,  and 
then,  as  I  gave  signs  of  rallying,  had  retreated 

173 


174    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

in  what  to  say  the  least  was  a  highly  strategic 
way.  Well,  let  her  go  for  the  moment  I  She 
could  scarcely  escape  me.  I  would  see  the 
thing  through,  I  told  myself  with  growing  stub- 
bornness ;  but  I  did  n't  feel  that  the  doing  of  a 
civic  duty  was  what  it  is  cracked  up  to  be. 
Not  at  all! 

I  felt  the  need  of  a  cocktail  with  a  kick  to 
it.  But  I  did  not  get  one.  However,  the 
cabbage  soup  was  eatable,  if  primitive ;  and,  in 
fact,  no  part  of  the  dinner  could  be  called  dis- 
tinctly bad. 

Having  finished  my  coffee,  I  went  outside 
feeling  more  cheerful.  It  was  dark  now.  A 
lantern  swinging  from  the  entrance  cast  flick- 
ering darts  of  light  about  the  courtyard,  the 
rough  paving-stones,  the  odd  old  galleries  and 
stairs.  Up-stairs  a  candle  shone  through 
the  window  of  Miss  Falconer's  room.  In  the 
kitchen  by  the  great  chimney  place  I  could 
see  a  leather-clad  chauffeur  eating,  the 
same  fellow  that  had  driven  the  blue  car  from 
the  rue  St.-Dominique;  and  while  I  watched, 
madame  emerged,  bearing  the  girl's  dinner 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        175 

tray,  which  with  much  groaning  and  panting 
she  carried  up  the  winding  stairs. 

It  was  foohsh  of  Miss  Falconer,  I  thought, 
to  insist  on  this  comedy.  She  might  better 
have  dined  with  me,  heard  what  I  had  to  say, 
and  yielded  with  a  good  grace.  However,  let 
her  have  her  dinner  in  peace  and  solitude,  I 
resolved  magnanimously.  The  moon  had  come 
out,  the  stars  too;  I  would  take  a  stroll  and 
mature  my  plans. 

Lighting  a  cigarette,  I  lounged  into  the 
street  and  addressed  myself  forthwith  to  an 
unhurried  tour  of  Bleau.  I  was  gone  perhaps 
an  hour,  not  a  very  lengthy  interval,  but  one 
in  which  a  variety  of  things  can  occur,  as  I 
was  to  learn.  My  walk  led  me  outside  the 
village,  down  a  water  path  between  trees,  and 
even  to  the  famous  mill,  which  was  charming. 
Had  I  been  of  the  fraternity  of  artists,  as  I  had 
claimed,  I  should  have  asked  no  better  fate 
than  to  come  there  with  canvas  and  brushes  and 
immortalize  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  scene. 

A  rustic  bridge  invited  me,  and  I  stood  and 
smoked  upon  it,  listening  to  the  ripple  of  the 


176    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

half -golden,  half -shadowy  water,  watching  the 
revolutions  of  the  green  old  wheel.  I  had 
laid  out  my  plan  of  action.  On  my  return  to 
the  inn  I  would  insist  on  an  interview  with 
Miss  Falconer,  and  would  tell  her  that  either 
she  must  return  with  me  to  Paris  or  that  the 
pohce  of  Bleau — I  supposed  it  had  police — 
must  take  a  hand. 

My  metamorphosis  into  a  hero  of  adventure, 
racing  about  the  country,  visiting  places  I  had 
never  heard  of,  coolly  assuming  the  control  of 
international  spy  plots,  brutally  determining 
to  kidnap  women  if  necessary,  was  astounding 
to  say  the  least.  That  dinner  in  the  St.  Ives 
restaurant  rose  before  me,  and  I  heard  again 
Dunny's  charge  that  I  was  growing  stodgy 
with  advancing  years.  Suppose  he  should  see 
me  now,  involved  in  these  insane  developments? 
He  might  call  me  various  unflattering  things, 
but  not  stodgy — not  with  truth.  I  chuckled 
half-heartedly,  my  last  chuckle,  by  the  by, 
for  a  long  time.  Unknown  to  me  and  unsus- 
pected, the  darker,  more  deadly  side  of  the  ad- 
venture was  steadily  drawing  near. 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        177 

When  I  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  Three 
Kings,  the  door  of  the  garage  stood  open,  and 
the  first  object  my  eyes  met  within  it  was  the 
pursuing  gray  car.  I  stared  at  the  thing, 
transfixed.  In  the  march  of  events  I  had  for- 
gotten it.  I  was  stiU  gaping  at  it  when 
madame  came  hurrying  forth. 

"I  have  been  watching,"  she  informed  me, 
"for  monsieur's  return.  Friends  of  his  ar- 
rived here  soon  after  he  left  the  house." 

"The  deuce  they  did!"  I  thought,  dumb- 
founded.    I  judged  prudence  advisable. 

"They  have  names,  these  friends?"  I  inquired 
warily. 

"Without  doubt.  Monsieur,"  she  agreed, 
"but  they  did  not  offer  them;  and  who  am  I 
to  ask  questions  of  the  officers  of  France? 
They  are  bound  on  a  mission,  plainly.  In  time 
of  war  those  so  engaged  talk  little.  They 
have  eaten,  and  they  have  gone  to  their  rooms, 
off  the  gallery  to  the  west.  And  the  fourth 
of  their  party — he  alone  wears  no  uniform ;  he 
is  doubtless  of  monsieur's  land — asked  of  me 
a  description  of  my  guests,  and  exclaimed  in 


178    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

great  delight,  saying  that  monsieur  was  his  old 
friend,  whom  he  had  hoped  to  find  here  and 
with  whom  he  must  have  speech  the  very  mo- 
ment that  monsieur  should  return.     I  know 


no  more." 


It  was  enough. 

"He  's  mistaken,"  I  said  shortly.  For  the 
moment  I  really  thought  that  this  must  be  the 
case. 

Her  broad,  good-natured  face  was  all  aston- 
ishment. 

"But,  Monsieur,"  she  burst  forth,  "he  even 
told  me,  this  gentleman,  that  such  might  be 
monsieur's  reply!  And  in  that  event  he  com- 
manded me  to  beg  monsieur  to  walk  up-stairs, 
since  he  had  a  thing  of  importance  to  reveal  to 
monsieur — one  best  said  behind  closed  doors !" 

I  stared  at  her,  my  head  humming  like  a 
top.  Then,  scrutinizingly,  I  looked  about  the 
court.  The  light  in  Miss  Falconer's  room  had 
been  extinguished.  Did  that  have  some  sig- 
nificance ?  Was  she  lying  perdue  because  these 
people  had  come?    In  the  rooms  opening  from 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        179 

the  west  gallery  above  the  street  entrance  I 
could  see  moving  shadows.  The  gray  car  had 
arrived,  and  it  bore  three  officers  of  France  for 
passengers.     What  could  this  mean? 

Of  course,  whoever  had  left  the  message  had 
mistaken  me  for  a  confederate.  I  could  not 
know  any  of  the  new  arrivals;  it  was  equally 
impossible  that  they  could  know  me.  None 
the  less,  with  a  slight,  unaccustomed  thrill  of 
excitement,  I  resolved  to  accept  the  invitation 
as  if  in  absolute  good  faith.  It  was  a  first-class 
chance  to  get  inside  those  rooms,  to  use  my 
eyes,  to  sound  this  affair  a  little,  to  learn 
whether  these  men  were  the  girl's  pursuers. 
As  army  officers  they  could  scarcely  be  her  ac- 
complices. Would  they  forestall  me  by  ar- 
resting her,  by  taking  her  back  to  Paris?  It 
was  astonishing  how  distasteful  I  found  the 
idea  of  that. 

I  told  madame  that  I  thought  I  knew,  now, 
who  the  gentlemen  were.  I  climbed  the  west 
staircase  with  determination  and  knocked  on 
the  door  of  the  first  room  that  had  a  light.     A 


180    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

voice  from  within,  vaguely  familiar,  bade  me 
enter.  I  did  so  immediately  and  closed  the 
door. 

Through  an  inner  entrance  I  saw  three  men 
grouped  about  a  table  in  the  next  room,  all 
smoking  cigarettes,  all  clad  in  horizon  blue. 
They  glanced  up  at  me  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  politely,  they  looked  away.  But  a  fourth 
man,  who  had  stood  beside  them,  came  striding 
out  to  meet  me,  and  I  confronted  Mr.  John 
Van  Blarcom  face  to  face. 

Officers  fresh  from  the  trenches  have  told 
me  that  one  can  lose  through  sheer  accustomed- 
ness  all  horror  at  the  grim  sights  of  warfare, 
all  consciousness  of  ear-splitting  noises,  all  in- 
terest in  gas  and  shrapnel  and  bursting  shells. 
In  the  same  way  one  can  lose  all  capacity  for 
astonishment,  I  suppose.  I  don't  think  I 
manifested  much  surprise  at  this  unexpected 
meeting;  and  I  heard  myself  remarking  quite 
coolly  that  there  had  been  a  mistake,  that  I 
had  been  told  down-stairs  that  a  friend  of  mine 
was  here. 

"That's  right,  Mr.   Bayne,"  cut  in  Van 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        181 

Blarcom  shortly.  "I  Ve  been  a  friend  of 
yours  clear  through,  and  I  'm  acting  as  one 
now.     Just  a  minute,  sir,  please!" 

He  had  shut  the  door  between  ourselves  and 
the  officers,  and  now  he  was  drawing  the  shut- 
ters close.  Coming  back  into  the  room,  he 
seated  himself,  and  motioned  me  toward  a 
chair,  which  I  did  n't  take.  His  authoritative 
manner  was,  I  must  say,  not  unimpressive. 
And  he  knew  how  to  arrange  a  rather  crude 
stage-setting;  the  room,  with  all  air  and  sound 
excluded,  seemed  tense  and  breathless ;  the  one 
dim  candle  on  the  table  lent  a  certain  solem- 
nity to  the  scene. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  'Bayne,'*  he  began  bluffly, 
"last  time  you  spoke  to  me  you  told  me  to — 
Well,  we  '11  let  bygones  be  bygones ;  I  guess 
you  remember  what  you  said.  You  don't  like 
me,  and  I  'm  not  wasting  any  love  on  you;  as 
far  as  you  're  personally  concerned,  I  'd  just  as 
soon  see  you  hang  I  But  I  've  got  to  think  of 
the  United  States.  I  'm  in  the  service,  and 
it  does  n't  do  her  any  good  to  have  her  citizens 
get  in  bad  with  France." 


182    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Standing  there,  gazing  at  him  with  an  air  of 
bored  inquiry,  behind  my  mask  of  indifference 
I  racked  my  brains.  What  did  he  want  of  me? 
What  did  he  want  of  Miss  Falconer?  What 
was  he  doing  in  this  military  galley?  Hope- 
less queries,  without  the  key  to  the  puzzle  1 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"I  don't  ask  you,"  he  went  on  crisply,  *  Vhat 
you  're  doing  here — " 

"You  had  better  not  I"  I  snapped.  "What 
tomfoolery  is  this?  Do  you  think  you  are  a 
police  officer  heckling  a  crook?  And  why 
should  you  ask  me  such  a  question  any  more 
than  I  should  ask  you?" 

He  grinned  meaningly. 

"Well,"  he  commented,  "there  might  be  rea- 
sons. I  'm  here  on  business,  with  papers  in 
order,  and  three  French  officers  to  answer  for 
me ;  but  you  're  a  kind  of  a  funny  person  to 
make  a  bee-line  for  a  place  like  Bleau.  An 
inn  like  this  doesn't  seem  your  style,  some- 
how. I  'd  say  the  Ritz  was  more  your  type. 
And  while  we  're  at  it,  did  you  go  to  the  Paris 
Prefecture  this  morning,  like  all  foreigners  are 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        188 

told  to,  and  show  your  passport,  and  get  your 
police  card?  Have  you  got  it  with  you  to 
show  the  mayor  if  I  set  him  after  you?  If  you 
have  you  stepped  pretty  lively,  considering 
you  left  Paris  by  three  o'clock." 

"If  any  one  in  authority  asks  me  that,"  I 
said,  "I  '11  answer  him.  I  certainly  don't  pro- 
pose to  answer  you."  My  arms  were  folded; 
I  looked  haughtily  indifferent ;  but  it  was  pure 
bluff.  The  only  paper  I  had  with  me  was  my 
passport.  What  the  dickens  could  I  do  if  he 
turned  nasty  along  such  lines? 

"As  I  was  saying,"  he  resumed,  unruffled, 
"I  'm  not  asking  you  why  you  're  here — be- 
cause I  know.  I  've  got  to  hand  it  to  you  that 
you  're  a  dead-game  sport.  Most  men's  hair 
would  have  turned  white  at  Gibraltar  after  the 
fuss  you  had.  And  here  you  are  again — in 
the  ring  for  all  you  're  worth  I" 

"I  suppose  you  mean  something,"  I  said 
wearily,  "but  it 's  too  subtle  and  cryptic. 
Please  use  words  of  one  syllable." 

He  nodded  tolerantly.  Leaning  back, 
thumbs  in  his  waistcoat-pockets,  swelling  visi- 


184    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

bly,  he  was  an  offensive  picture  of  self-satis- 
faction and  content. 

"You  can't  get  away  with  it,  Mr.  Bayne," 
he  declared  impressively.  "You  've  taken  on 
too  much;  I  'm  giving  it  to  you  straight.  You 
can  do  a  lot  with  money  and  good  clothes, 
and  being  born  a  gentleman  and  acting  like 
one,  and  having  friends  to  help  you;  but  you 
can't  buck  the  French  Government  and  the 
French  army  and  the  French  police.  In  a 
little  affair  of  this  sort  you  would  n't  have  a 
leg  to  stand  on.  Even  your  ambassador 
would  turn  you  down  cold.  He  wouldn't 
dare  do  anything  else.  This  is  the  last  call 
for  dinner  in  the  dining-car,  for  you.  Last 
time  I  wanted  to  tell  you  the  facts  of  the  case 
you  would  n't  listen.    Will  you  Hsten  now?" 

I  considered. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  '11  listen.     Go  ahead!" 

He  foundered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
plunged  in  boldly. 

"About  this  young  lady  who  's  brought  you 
and  me  to  Bleau.  Oh,  you  need  n't  lift  your 
eyebrows,  much  as  to  say,  *What  young  lady?' 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        185 

You  know  she  's  here,  and  I  know  it ;  and  she 
knows  I  He  come  and  has  put  her  light  out  and 
is  shaking  in  her  shoes  over  there.  I  can  swear 
to  that.  Well,  I  want  to  tell  you  I  never 
started  out  to  get  her;  I  just  stumbled  across 
her  on  the  steamer  by  a  fluke.  But  I  kept 
my  eyes  open  and  I  saw  a  lot  of  things;  and 
when  I  got  to  Paris  to-day  I  told  them  at  the 
Prefecture,  You  can  see  what  they  thought 
of  the  business  by  my  being  here.  I  wasn't 
keen  to  come.  I  Ve  got  my  own  work  to  do. 
But  they  want  me  to  identify  her;  and  they  've 
sent  three  officers  with  me — not  policemen, 
you  '11  notice,  because  this  is  an  army  matter, 
and  before  we  make  an  end  of  it  we  '11  be  in 
the  army  zone." 

I  don't  know  just  what  he  saw  in  my  eyes; 
but  it  seemed  to  bother  him.  He  fidgeted  a 
little;  as  he  approached  the  crucial  point,  his 
gaze  evaded  mine. 

"Now  then,  we  '11  come  down  to  brass  tacks, 
Mr.  Bayne,"  said  he.  "I  don't  know  what 
kind  of  story  the  girl  told  you;  but  I  know  it 
wasn't  the  truth  or  you  wouldn't  be  here. 


186    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

That 's  sure.  She  's  a  German  agent ;  she  's 
come  to  get  the  Germans  some  papers  that  they 
want  about  as  bad  as  anything  under  heaven. 
There  's  one  man  who  tried  the  job  already. 
He  got  killed  for  his  pains;  but  he  hid  the 
papers  before  he  died,  and  she  knows  where; 
and  she  's  on  her  way  to  get  them  and  carry 
the  business  through.  I  don't  say  she  has  n't 
plenty  of  courage.  Why,  she's  gone  up 
against  the  whole  of  France;  but  I  guess 
you're  not  very  anxious  to  be  mixed  up  in 
this  underhand,  spying  sort  of  matter,  eh?" 

My  hands  were  doubling  themselves  with 
automatic  vigor.  I  wanted — consumedly — to 
knock  the  fellow  down.  However,  I  con- 
trolled myself. 

"What 's  your  offer?"  I  asked. 

**It  's  this."  He  was  obviously  relieved, 
positively  swelling  in  his  tolerant,  good- 
humored  patronage.  "I  said  once  before  I 
was  sorry  for  you,  and  that  still  goes ;  we  won't 
be  hard  on  you  if  we  have  got  the  whip-hand, 
Mr.  Bayne.  You  just  stay  in  your  room  to- 
morrow until  she  's  gone  and  we  're  gone,  and 


THE  PLOT  THICKENS        187 

you  needn't  be  afraid  your  name  will  ever 
figure  in  this  thing.  I  Ve  made  it  all  right  with 
my  friends  in  the  next  room.  They  know  a 
pretty  girl  can  fool  a  man  sometimes,  and 
they  Ve  got  a  soft  spot  for  Americans,  like  all 
the  Frenchies  have.  Take  it  from  me,  you  'd 
better  draw  out  quietly,  instead  of  being  ar- 
rested, tried,  shot,  or  imprisoned  maybe — or 
being  sent  home  with  an  unproved  charge  hang- 
ing over  you,  and  having  all  your  friends  fight 
shy  of  you  as  a  suspected  pro-German.  Is  n't 
that  so?" 

"You  certainly,"  I  agreed,  "draw  a  most 
uninviting  picture.  I  '11  have  to  consider  this, 
Mr.  Van  Blarcom,  if  you  '11  give  me  time?" 

"Sure!"  with  his  hearty  response.  "Take 
as  long  as  you  like  to  think  it  over ;  I  know  how 
you'll  decide.  You  don't  belong  in  a  thing 
like  this  anyhow;  you  never  did.  It's  bound 
to  end  in  a  nasty  mess  for  all  concerned. 
There  's  a  train  goes  to  Paris  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  eleven.  You  just  take  it,  sir,  and  for- 
get this  business,  and  you  '11  thank  me  all  your 
Ufa." 


CHAPTER  XV 

GEORGES  THE   CHAUFFEUE 

UPON  descending  to  the  courtyard,  I 
took  a  seat  on  a  bench  beneath  a  vine- 
covered  trellis.  To  stop  here  for  a  time,  smok- 
ing, would  seem  a  natural  proceeding,  and 
while  I  held  such  a  post  of  recognizance  noth- 
ing overt  could  transpire  in  the  environs  with- 
out my  taking  note  of  the  fact.  Enough  had 
developed  already,  though,  heaven  was  witness! 
I  lit  a  cigarette  and  prepared  for  a  resume. 

Like  a  sleuth  noting  salient  points,  I  glanced 
round  the  rectangular  court.  At  my  right, 
off  the  gallery,  was  Miss  Falconer's  room 
shrouded  in  darkness;  at  the  left,  up  another 
flight  of  stairs,  my  own  uninviting  domain. 
The  quarters  of  Van  Blarcom  and  his  uni- 
formed friends  opened  from  the  gallery  above 
the  street  passage,  facing  the  main  portion  of 

188 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    189 

the  inn  which  sheltered  the  kitchen  and  salle  a 
manger.  Such  was  the  simple,  homely  stage- 
setting.     What  of  the  play? 

Bleau,  I  now  felt  tolerably  sure,  was  merely 
a  mile-stone  on  the  route  of  Miss  Falconer. 
Next  morning,  at  sunrise  probably,  she  would 
resimie  her  journey  for  parts  unknown. 
Would  they  arrest  her  before  she  left  the  inn 
or  merely  follow  her?  The  latter,  doubtless, 
since  they  asserted  that  she  was  on  her  way 
to  get  the  papers  that  they  wanted  for  France. 

Up-stairs  in  the  room  where  Van  Blarcom 
and  I  had  held  our  conference  the  shutters  had 
been  reopened.  There  was  just  one  light  to 
be  seen,  a  glowing  point,  which  was  obviously 
the  tip  of  a  cigar.  If  I  was  keeping  vigil 
below,  from  above  he  returned  the  compliment ; 
nor  did  he  mean  that  I  should  hold  any  secret 
colloquy  with  the  girl  that  night.  I  swore 
softly,  but  earnestly.^  Considering  his  rather 
decent  attitude,  his  efforts  from  the  very  first 
to  enlighten  me  as  to  the  dangers  I  was  run- 
ning, it  was  odd  that  my  detestation  of  the  man 
was  so  thoroughly  ingrained  and  so  profound. 


190    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

The  mystery  of  the  gray  car  had  been  solved 
with  a  vengeance.  Instead  of  being  freighted 
with  accomphces,  as  I  had  at  first  thought  pos- 
sible, it  had  carried  the  representatives  of  jus- 
tice, in  the  persons  of  three  officers  and  my 
secret-service  friend.  A  queer  conjunction, 
that;  but  then,  my  ignorance  of  French  meth- 
ods was  abysmal.  Perhaps  this  was  the  usual 
mode  of  doing  things  in  time  of  war. 

Van  Blarcom's  explanation,  though  it  made 
me  furious,  had  brought  conviction.  There 
was  a  certain  grim  appositeness  about  it  all. 
The  night  in  New  York,  the  events  of  the 
steamer,  the  unsatisfactory  character  of  the 
girl's  actions,  all  fitted  neatly  into  the  plan; 
and  the  mere  personnel  of  the  pursuing  party 
was  sufficient  assurance,  for  French  officers,  as 
I  well  knew,  were  neither  liars  nor  fools. 
Neither,  I  patriotically  assumed,  were  the  men 
of  my  country's  secret  service,  however  hum- 
ble their  part  as  cogs  in  that  great  machinery, 
or  however  distasteful  Mr.  Van  Blarcom,  per- 
sonally, might  be  to  me.  And  finally,  I  could 
not  deny  that  women,  clever,  well-born,  and 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR  191 

beautiful,  had  served  as  spies  a  thousand  times 
in  the  world's  history,  urged  to  it  by  some  sense 
of  duty,  some  tie  of  blood. 

Yes,  that  was  it,  I  told  myself  in  sudden  pity, 
recalling  how  Miss  Falconer  had  stood  on  the 
steps  in  her  nurse's  costume,  straight  and  slen- 
der, her  gray  eyes  full  of  fire,  her  face  glowing 
like  a  rose.  Perhaps  she  was  of  the  enemy's 
country.  Perhaps  those  she  loved,  those  who 
made  up  her  life,  had  set  her  feet  in  this  patJh 
that  she  was  treading.  If  she  was  a  spy, — 
Lord !  how  the  mere  word  hurt  one  I — ^it  was  n't 
for  ignoble  motives ;  it  was  n't  for  pay. 

I  came  impulsively  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  just  one  course  for  my  taking:  to 
see  her  and  to  beg,  bully,  or  wheedle  from  her 
the  unvarnished  truth.  Then,  if  it  was  as  I 
feared,  she  should  go  back  to  Paris  if  I  had  to 
carry  her;  she  should  accompany  me  to  Bor- 
deaux, and  on  the  first*  steamer  she  should  sail 
from  France.  Yes;  and  the  army  should  have 
its  papers,  for  she  should  tell  me  where  they 
were  hidden.  Her  work  should  end ;  but  these 
men  up-stairs  should  not  track  her  and  trap 


192    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

her  and  drag  her  off  to  prison,  perhaps  to 
death. 

There  was  danger  in  the  plan,  even  if  I 
could  accomplish  it.  I  should  get  myself  into 
trouble,  dark  and  deep.  Well,  if  I  had  to 
languish  behind  bars  for  a  while  I  could  sur- 
vive it.  But  she  might  not.  As  I  thought  of 
this  I  knew  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind  irre- 
vocably. 

It  was  a  problem,  nevertheless,  to  arrange 
an  interview,  with  Van  Blarcom  sitting  at  his 
window,  watching  me  like  a  lynx.  I  could  n't 
go  up  the  stairs  and  batter  on  her  door  till  she 
opened  it ;  apart  from  the  reception  she  would 
give  me  it  would  simply  amount  to  making  a 
present  of  my  intentions  to  the  men  across  the 
way.  Yet  who  knew  how  long  they  would 
keep  up  their  surveillance?  Till  I  retired, 
probably  I  "I  'd  give  something  to  choke  you 
and  be  done  with  it  I"  was  the  benediction  I 
wafted  toward  the  sentinel  above. 

I  was  owning  myself  at  my  wit's  end  when 
a  ray  of  hope  was  vouchsafed  me.  The  kitchen 
door  opened  and  let  out  a  leather-clad  figure 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    193 

which  strode  across  the  courtyard,  lantern  in 
hand,  and  let  itself  into  the  garage.  Despite 
the  dimness,  I  recognized  Miss  Falconer's 
chauffeur,  the  man  she  had  addressed  as 
Georges  when  they  left  the  rue  St.-Dominique. 
The  very  link  I  needed,  provided  I  could  get 
into  communication  with  him  in  some  unosten- 
tatious way. 

I  rose,  stretched  myself  lazily,  and  began 
to  pace  the  court.  Perhaps  a  dozen  times  I 
crossed  and  recrossed  it,  each  turn  taking  me 
past  the  garage  and  affording  me  a  brief  glance 
within.  The  chauffeur,  coat  flung  aside, 
sleeves  rolled  up,  was  hard  at  work  overhaul- 
ing his  engine,  with  an  obvious  view  to  effi- 
ciency upon  the  morrow.  Up  at  the  window  I 
could  see  the  glowing  cigar-tip  move  now  to 
this  side,  now  to  that.  'Not  for  an  instant  was 
Van  Blarcom  allowing  me  to  escape  from 
sight. 

After  taking  one  more  turn  I  halted,  yawned 
audibly  for  the  sentry's  benefit,  and  seated  my- 
self once  more,  this  time  on  a  bench  by  the  door 
of  the  garage.    Van  Blarcom's  cigar  became 


194    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

stationary  again.  The  chauffeur,  who  had  sat- 
isfied himself  as  to  the  engine  and  was  now 
passing  critical  fingers  over  the  gashes  in  the 
tires,  looked  up  at  me  casually  and  then  re- 
sumed his  work.  Kneeling  there,  his  tools 
about  him,  he  was  plainly  visible  in  the  light 
of  the  smoky  lantern.  He  was  a  young  man, 
twenty-three  or  -four  perhaps,  strongly  built 
and  obviously  of  French-peasant  stock,  with 
honest  blue  eyes  and  a  face  not  unduly  intel- 
ligent, but  thoroughly  frank  and  open  in  its 
cast.  The  actors  in  my  drama,  I  had  to  own, 
were  puzzling.  This  lad  looked  no  more  fitted 
than  Miss  Falconer  for  a  treacherous  role. 

How  theatrical  it  all  was!  And  yet  it  had 
its  zest.  I  confess  I  experienced  a  certain 
thrill,  entirely  new  to  me,  as  I  bent  forward 
with  my  arms  on  my  knees  and  my  head  low- 
ered to  hide  my  face. 

"Attention,  Georges!"  I  muttered  beneath 
my  breath. 

The  chauffeur  started,  knocking  a  tool  from 
the  running-board  beside  him.     His  eyes,  hf^- 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    195 

startled,  half -fierce,  fixed  themselves  on  me; 
his  hand  went  toward  his  pocket  in  a  most  sig- 
nificant way.  In  a  minute  he  would  be  shoot- 
ing me,  I  reflected  grimly.  And  up-stairs 
the  very  stillness  of  Van  Blarcom  shrieked 
suspicion;  he  could  not  have  helped  hearing 
the  clatter  that  the  falling  tool  had  made. 

*'Don't  be  a  fool,"  I  muttered,  low,  but 
sharply.  "I  know  where  you  and  mademoi- 
selle come  from;  I  know  she  is  up-stairs  now; 
if  I  wished  you  any  harm  I  could  have  had  the 
mayor  and  the  gendarmes  here  an  hour  ago! 
Keep  your  head — we  are  being  watched. 
Have  a  good  look  at  me  first  if  you  feel  you 
want  to.  Then  take  your  hand  off  that  re- 
volver and  pretend  to  go  to  work." 

Throwing  my  head  back,  I  began  blowing 
clouds  of  smoke,  wondering  every  instant 
whether  a  bullet  would  whiz  through  my  brain. 
I  could  feel  Georges'  gaze  upon  me ;  I  knew  it 
was  a  critical  moment.  But  as  his  kind  are 
quick,  shrewd  judges  of  caste  and  character,  I 
had  my  hopes. 


196    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

They  were  justified;  for  presently  I  heard 
him  draw  a  breath  of  rehef.  His  hand  came 
out  of  his  pocket. 

"Pardon,  Monsieur,"  he  whispered,  and  be- 
gan a  vigorous  pretense  of  pohshing  the  car. 

Again  I  leaned  forward  to  hide  the  fact 
that  my  lips  were  moving; 

"When  you  speak  to  me,  keep  your  head 
bent  as  I  do." 

"Monsieur,  yes." 

"Now  listen.  Men  of  the  French  army  are 
here,  with  powers  from  the  pohce.  They  ac- 
cuse mademoiselle  of  serious  things,  of  acts  of 
treason,  of  being  on  her  way  to  secure  papers 
for  the  foes  of  France.  They  are  watching. 
To-morrow,  if  she  departs,  they  mean  to  fol- 
low and  to  arrest  her  when  they  have  gained 
proof  of  what  she  is  hunting." 

"Mon  Dieu,  Monsieur!    What  shall  I  do?" 

There  was  appeal  in  his  voice.  Convinced 
of  my  good  faith,  he  was  quite  simply  shifting 
the  business  to  my  shoulders — the  French 
peasant  trusting  the  man  he  ranked  as  of  his 
master's  class.    And  oddly  enough  I  found 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    197 

myself  responding  as  if  to  a  trusted  person. 
I  smoked  a  little,  wondering  whether  Van  Blar- 
com  could  catch  the  faint  mutter  of  our  voices. 
Then  I  gave  my  orders  in  the  same  muffled 
tones : 

"You  will  tell  the  servants  that  you  wish 
to  sleep  here  to-night,  to  watch  the  car.  You 
will. stay  here  very  quietly  until  it  is  nearly 
dawn.  Then  you  will  creep  to  mademoiselle's 
door  and  whisper  what  I  have  told  you  and  say 
that  I  beg  her  to  meet  me  before  those  others 
have  awakened  at  five  o'clock  in — " 

Pondering  a  rendezvous,  I  hesitated.  The 
room  where  I  had  dined,  with  its  stone  floor,  its 
beamed  ceiling,  and  dark  panels,  came  first  to 
my  mind.  I  fancied,  though,  that  some  out- 
door spot  might  be  safer.  I  remembered  op- 
portunely that  a  passage  led  past  this  room,  and 
that  at  its  end  I  had  glimpsed  a  little  garden 
behind  the  inn. 

"In  the  garden,"  I  finished,  and  risked  one 
straight  look  at  him.  "I  can  trust  you, 
Georges?" 

The  young  man's  throat  seemed  to  close. 


198    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Monsieur  le  due  was  my  foster-brother. 
Monsieur"  he  whispered.  "I  would  die  for 
him." 

Who  the  deuce  monsieur  le  due  might  be  I 
did  not  tarry  to  discover.  I  had  done  all  I 
could ;  the  future  was  on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 
Having  smoked  one  more  cigarette  for  the 
sake  of  verisimilitude,  I  rose,  stretched  myself 
ostentatiously,  and  crossed  the  courtyard  to  the 
stairs,  where  madame  was  descending.  She 
had,  she  informed  me,  been  preparing  my 
bed. 

"And  I  wish  monsieur  good  repose,"  she 
ended  volubly.  "Hitherto,  no  Zeppelins  have 
come  to  Bleau  to  disturb  our  dreams.  Though, 
alas,  who  knows  what  they  will  do,  now  that 
we  have  lost  our  most  gallant  hero?  Monsieur 
has  heard  of  the  Firefly  of  France,  he  who  is 
missing?" 

That  name  again!  Odd  how  it  seemed  to 
pursue  me. 

"I  believe  I  shall  meet  that  fellow  some  time 
if  he  's  living,"  I  reflected  as  I  climbed  the 
stairs. 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    199 

In  my  room,  my  candle  lighted,  I  resigned 
myself  to  a  ghastly  night.  I  don't  like  dis- 
comfort, though  I  can  put  up  with  it  when  I 
must.  The  bed  looked  as  hard  as  nails;  the 
bowl  made  cleanliness  a  duty,  not  a  pleasure. 
And  to  think  that  I  might  have  been  sleeping 
in  comfort  at  the  Ritzl 

Tossing  from  side  to  side,  pounding  a  cast- 
iron  pillow,  I  dozed  through  uneasy  intervals, 
and  woke  with  groans  and  starts.  I  could  not 
rid  myself  of  the  sense  of  something  ominous 
hanging  over  me.  The  gray  car  ramped 
through  my  dreams;  so  did  Van  Blarcom;  and 
between  sleeping  and  waking,  I  pictured  my 
coming  interview  with  the  girl,  her  probable 
terror,  the  force  and  menaces  I  should  have  to 
use,  our  hurried  flight. 

At  length  I  fell  into  a  heavy,  exhausted 
slumber,  from  which,  toward  morning  I  fan- 
cied, I  sat  up  suddenly  with  the  dazed  impres- 
sion of  some  sound  echoing  in  my  ears. 
Springing  out  of  bed,  I  groped  my  way  to  the 
window.  The  galleries  lay  peaceful  and 
empty  in  the  moonlight,  and  down  in  the 


/ 


200    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 


courtyard  there  was  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
life. 

I  went  back  to  bed  in  a  state  of  jangled 
nerves.  Again  I  dozed,  and  a  dim  light  was 
creeping  through  the  window  when  I  woke. 
I  looked  out  again. 

*'Hello!"  I  muttered,  for  though  the  hotel 
seemed  wrapped  in  slumber,  the  door  of  the 
garage  now  stood  ajar.  Was  it  possible  that 
Miss  Falconer  had  stolen  a  march  on  me,  that 
the  automobile  could  have  left  the  premises 
without  my  being  roused?  It  was  only  four 
o'clock,  but  all  wish  for  sleep  had  left  me.  I 
decided  to  investigate  without  any  more  ado. 

I  made  the  best  toilet  that  cold  water  and  a 
cracked  mirror  permitted,  longing  the  while 
for  a  bath,  for  a  breakfast  tray,  for  a  hundred 
civilized  things.  Taking  my  hat  and  coat,  I 
went  quietly  down  the  staircase.  The  garage 
door  beckoned  me,  and  all  unprepared,  I 
walked  into  the  tragedy  of  the  affair. 

In  the  dim  place  there  were  signs  of  a  des- 
perate struggle.  The  rugs  and  cushions  of 
Miss  Falconer's  automobile  were  scattered  far 


GEORGES  THE  CHAUFFEUR    201 

and  wide.  The  gray  car  had  vanished;  and 
in  the  center  of  the  floor  was  Georges,  the 
chauffeur,  lying  on  his  back  with  arms  ex- 
tended, staring  up  at  the  ceiling  with  wide, 
unseeing  blue  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"l   MUST  GO   on" 

KNEELING  by  the  young  man's  side,  I 
felt  for  his  pulse ;  but  the  moment  that 
my  fingers  touched  his  cold  wrist  I  knew  the 
truth.  There  flashed  into  my  mind  queerly, 
as  things  do  at  grim  moments,  an  often-heard 
expression  about  rigor  mortis  setting  in. 
With  this  poor  fellow  it  had  not  started,  but 
he  was  dead  for  all  that.  The  most  skilful 
surgeon  in  Europe  could  not  have  helped  him 
now. 

I  never  doubted  that  it  was  murder.  The 
confusion  of  the  garage  was  proof  of  it;  and 
the  instrument,  once  I  looked  about  me,  was 
not  far  to  seek.  Divided  between  rage,  horror, 
and  pity,  I  saw  a  sort  of  sharp  stiletto  suitable 
for  use  as  a  penknife  or  letter  opener,  which, 
after  doing  its  work,  had  been  cast  upon  the 
floor. 

202 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  208 

I  remained  on  my  knees  beside  the  lad,  smit- 
ten with  a  keen  remorse.  I  knew  no  good  of 
him;  I  had  even  suspected  him;  but  he  had  an 
honest  face.  Why  had  I  not  kept  watch  all 
night?  The  instructions  I  had  given,  the  plan 
I  had  thought  so  clever,  might  be  responsible 
for  the  killing;  it  must  have  been  some  echo 
of  the  struggle  that  had  roused  me  when  I  had 
wakened  and  glanced  out  and  gone  placidly 
back  to  sleep. 

Had  Van  Blarcom  caught  our  whispered 
colloquy,  or  surmised  it?  Helped  by  his 
precious  colleagues,  he  must  have  taken 
Georges  unprepared,  throttled  him  to  prevent 
his  shouting,  and  ended  his  frantic  struggles 
with  one.  swift,  ruthless  blow.  But  why? 
What  sort  of  soldiers  could  these  be  who  wore 
the  uniform  of  a  brave,  chivalrous  country  and 
yet  did  murder?  What  sort  of  mission  were 
they  bound  upon  that  for  no  visible  gain  or 
niotive  they  risked  desperate  work  like  this? 

And  the  girl  up-stairs?  The  thought  was 
like  a  knife  thrust;  it  brought  me  to  my  feet, 
my  heart  pounding,  my  forehead  cold  and  wet. 


204    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

I  told  myself  that  she  must  be  safe,  that  whole- 
sale killing  could  not  be  the  aim  of  these 
wretches,  that  the  gray  automobile  was  not 
what  our  one-cent  sheets  in  their  tales  of  gun- 
men like  to  call  a  "murder  car."  But  what 
did  I  know  about  it?  I  was  in  a  funk,  a  funk 
of  the  bluest  variety.  In  that  one  age-lo^ig 
moment  I  learned  what  sheer  fright  meant. 

Without  knowing  how  I  got  there,  I  found 
myself  in  the  gallery.  The  doors  that  lined 
it  were  rickety  and  worm-eaten;  I  stared 
weakly  at  them.  A  mere  twist  of  practised 
fingers,  and  they  could  be  forced  open  by  any 
one  who  cared  to  try.  I  thought  I  heard  a 
faint  breathing  inside  the  girl's  room,  but  I  was 
not  sure ;  I  was  too  rattled.  Very  guardedly  I 
knocked  and  got  no  answer.  Then,  in  utter 
panic,  I  knocked  louder,  at  risk  of  disturbing 
the  whole  house. 

"Georges,  c'est  vous?"  It  was  the  drowsiest 
of  murmurs,  but  few  things  have  been  so  wel- 
come to  me  in  all  my  life. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle."  Though  my  knees 
were  wobbling  under  me  I  summoned  presence 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  205 

of  mind  to  impersonate  the  poor  huddled  mass 
of  flesh  in  the  garage. 

"Attendez  done!" 

I  could  hear  her  stirring;  she  beheved  I  had 
come  with  some  summons,  with  some  news. 
Well,  it  was  imperative  that  I  should  see  her. 
I,  waited  obediently  until  the  door  swung  open 
and  revealed  her  in  a  loose  robe  of  blue,  with 
her  hair  in  a  ruddy  mass  about  her  shoulders 
and  the  sleep  still  lingering  in  her  eyes. 

"Mr.Bayner 

Such  was  my  relief  at  finding  my  fears  un- 
called for  that  I  could  have  danced  a  break- 
down on  that  crazy  gallery,  snapping  my  fin- 
gers in  Castanet  fashion  above  my  head.  I  had 
forgotten  entirely  the  strained  terms  of  our 
parting;  but  she  remembered.  A  bright  wave 
of  scarlet  ran  over  her  face,  her  neck,  her  fore- 
head. She  gasped,  clutched  her  robe  about  her, 
would  have  shut  her  door  if  I  had  not  foreseen 
the  strategic  movement  and  inserted  a  foot  in 
the  diminishing  crack,  just  in  time. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  began  hastily.  "I 
am  really  extremely  sorry.    But  something 


206    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

has  occurred  that  forces  me  to  speak  to  you." 

"There  can  be  nothing  that  forces  you  to 
come  here — nothing!"  Her  lips  were  trem- 
bhng;  her  voice  wavered;  the  apparent  shame- 
lessness  of  my  behavior  was  driving  her  to  the 
verge  of  tears.  "Is  there  no  place  where  I  am 
safe  from  you?  Mr.  Bayne,  how  can  you?  I 
sha'n't  listen  to  a  single  word  while  you  keep 
your  foot  in  the  door!" 

"And  I  can't  take  it  away  until  you  listen," 
I  protested.  "It  is  perfectly  obvious  that  if 
I  did,  you  would  shut  me  out.  But  you  can 
see  for  yourself  that  I  'm  not  trying  to  force 
an  entrance — and  I  wish  that  you  would  speak 
lower;  if  we  waken  anybody,  there  will  be  the 
mischief  to  pay." 

My  voice,  I  suppose,  had  an  impatient  note 
that  was  reassuring,  or  perhaps  I  looked  en- 
couragingly respectable,  viewed  at  closer  range. 
At  any  rate,  she  spoke  less  angrily,  though  she 
still  stood  erect  and  haughty. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked,  barring  the 
opening  with  one  slender  arm. 


'There  can  be  nothing  that  forceJi  you  to  come  here  —nothing!' 


-I  MUST  GO  ON"  207 

"May  I  ask  if  you  have  had  a  message  from 
me,  Miss  Falconer?" 

"A  message?  Certainly  not  I"  There  was 
renewed  suspicion  in  her  voice. 

"H'm."  Then  they  had  intercepted  the  man 
before  he  reached  her.  *'I  'm  going  to  ask  you 
to  dress  as  quickly  and  quietly  as  possible  and 
come  down-stairs.  Don't  stop  in  the  court, 
and  don't  go  near  the  garage,  I  beg  of  you. 
Just  walk  on  past  the  salle  a  manger  to  the 
garden,  and  wait  for  me." 

I  expected  exclamations,  questions,  indig- 
nant protests,  anything  but  the  sudden  white 
calm  that  fell  on  her  at  my  request. 

*' You  mean,"  she  whispered,  "that  something 
dreadful  has  happened.  Is  it  about  the — the 
men  who  came  last  night?" 

"Yes.  But  please  don't  worry,"  I  urged 
with  false  heartiness.  "I  '11  explain  when  you 
come  down."  To  cut  the  discussion  short,  I 
turned  to  go. 

Once  her  door  had  closed,  however,  I  halted 
at  the  staircase,  retraced  my  steps,  and,  with- 


208    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

out  hesitation,  circled  the  gallery  to  the  rooms 
of  Mr.  John  Van  Blarcom  and  his  friends.  I 
had  had  enough  of  uncertainties;  henceforth  I 
meant  to  deal  with  facts.  It  was  barely  possi- 
ble that  I  was  unjustly  anathematizing  these 
gentlemen,  that,  while  they  were  peacefully 
sleeping,  thieves  had  broken  in  below. 

Two  knocks,  the  first  rather  tentative,  the 
second  brisker,  netting  no  response,  I  deliber- 
ately tried  the  knob  and  felt  the  door  promptly 
yield  to  me;  then,  with  equal  deliberation,  I 
dropped  my  hand  into  my  pocket  where  my 
revolver  lay.  If  some  one  sprang  at  me  and 
tried  to  crack  my  head  or  stab  me, — stabbing 
was  popular  hereabouts, — I  was  in  a  state  of 
armed  preparedness.  But  when  I  stepped  in- 
side I  found  an  empty  room,  a  bed  in  which  no 
one  had  slept. 

Grown  brazen,  I  strode  across  to  the  inner 
door  and  opened  it.  More  emptiness  greeted 
me;  the  four  men  had  plainly  taken  French 
leave  in  their  gray  car.  It  was  strange  that 
the  hum  of  their  departure  had  not  roused  me ; 
they  must,  before  starting  the  motor,  have 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  209 

pushed  their  automobile  from  the  courtyard 
and  out  of  ear-shot  down  the  street. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  in  the  deserted  room, 
reflecting  swiftly.  The  situation  was  desper- 
ate ;  in  another  hour  the  inn  would  be  stirring, 
and  Miss  Falconer,  I  felt  sure,  could  not  afford 
to  be  found  here  when  that  came  to  pass. 
Murder  investigations  are  searching  things. 
All  strangers  beneath  this  roof  would  be  in- 
terrogated narrowly.  If  any  one  had  a  secret, 
— and  she  certainly  had  several, — the  chances 
were  heavy  that  it  would  be  dragged  to  light. 

For  some  reason  this  prospect  was  unspeak- 
ably frightful  to  me.  Under  its  spur  I  hatched 
the  craziest  scheme  that  man  ever  thought  of, 
and  took  steps  which,  as  I  look  back  at  them, 
seem  almost  beyond  belief.  I  must  get  Miss 
Falconer  off  for  Paris,  I  determined.  And 
since  it  was  possible  that  the  villagers  would 
see  us  leaving,  she  must  appear  to  go,  as  she 
had  come,  with  her  chauffeur. 

I  descended,  forthwith,  to  the  garage  where 
the  murdered  man  was  lying,  shook  out  and 
folded  the  rugs  that  had  been  scattered  in  the 


210    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

struggle,  picked  up  the  cushions,  and  replaced 
them  in  the  car.  Then,  borrowing  a  ruse  from 
the  enemy,  I  set  the  door  wide  open,  and,  puf- 
fing and  panting,  pushed  the  blue  automobile 
into  the  courtyard,  through  the  passage,  and  a 
considerable  distance  down  the  street. 

What  comes  next,  I  ask  no  one  to  credit. 
Retrospectively,  I  myself  have  doubted  it.  It 
ives  in  my  memory  as  a  grisly  nightmare  rather 
than  as  a  fact.  To  be  brief,  I  returned  to  the 
scene  of  the  crime,  shut  out  any  possible  audi- 
ence by  closing  the  door,  and  disrobed  hastily. 
Then  I  removed  the  leather  costimie  of  the 
victim,  donned  it,  laced  on  his  boots,  which 
by  good  fortune  were  loose  instead  of  tight, 
and,  picking  up  his  visored  cap  from  the  floor 
where  it  had  fallen,  stood  forth  to  all  seeming 
as  genuine  a  member  of  the  proletariate  as  ever 
wore  goggles  and  held  a  wheel. 

By  this  time  my  teeth  were  clenched  as  if  in 
the  throes  of  lockjaw.  Had  I  paused  to  think 
for  a  single  instant,  all  my  nerve  would  have 
oozed  away.     But  I  had  no  time  to  spend  on 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  211 

thought;  I  had  to  work  on,  to  save  Miss  Fal- 
coner. The  whole  ghoulish  business  would  be 
futile  if  the  inn  servants  found  the  body.  The 
mere  flight  of  all  the  guests  would  certainly  stir 
suspicion;  let  the  murder  transpire  as  well,  and 
at  once  we  should  be  pursued. 

The  garage,  from  the  looks  of  it,  was  not 
often  put  to  service.  A  dusty  spot,  festooned 
with  cobwebs,  it  cried  to  the  skies  for  brooms 
and  mops.  In  the  background,  apparently  un- 
distiu-bed  since  the  days  of  the  First  Empire, 
a  great  pile  of  straw  mixed  with  junk  of  various 
kinds  lay  against  the  wall;  and  most  reluc- 
tantly, my  every  fiber  shrieking  protest,  I  saw 
what  use  I  might  make  of  this  debris — if  I 
could. 

*'Go  to  itl"  I  told  myself  inexorably,  but 
miserably.  "It 's  not  a  question  of  liking  it, 
you  know.  You  've  got  to  do  it."  Grimly  I 
wrapped  my  discarded  clothes  about  the  poor 
chap's  body,  dragged  it  to  the  straw,  and  cov- 
ered it  from  head  to  foot.  By  this  action,  I 
surmised,  I  was  rendering  myself  a  probable 


212    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

accessory  and  a  certain  suspect;  but  the  one 
thing  I  really  cared  about  was  my  last  glimpse 
of  that  patient  face. 

"Sorry,  old  man,"  was  all  the  apology  I 
could  muster.  "And  if  I  ever  get  a  chance  at 
the  people  who  did  it,  you  can  count  on  mel" 

With  a  sigh  of  complete  exhaustion,  I  rose 
and  looked  about.  All  signs  of  the  crime  had 
been  obliterated  from  the  garage.  "I  must  be 
crazy!"  I  thought,  as  the  enormity  of  the  thing 
rushed  on  me.  **I  wonder  why  I  did  it?  And 
I  wonder  whether  I  can  forget  it  some  day 
— ^maybe  after  twenty  years?" 

As  I  opened  the  door  to  the  garden  the  dim 
light  was  growing  clearer.  I  was  late;  the 
girl,  coated  and  hatted,  ready  for  flitting,  was 
already  at  the  rendezvous.  At  sight  of  me  in 
my  leather  togs  she  started  backward;  then, 
resolutely  controlled,  she  drew  herself  up  and 
faced  me  silently,  her  hands  clutching  at  her 
furs,  her  lips  a  little  apart. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  I  began  lamely,  in- 
dicating an  iron  bench.  It  was  all  so  differ- 
ent from  the  interview  I  had  planned  last 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  213 

night!  "I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  your 
chauffeur,  Miss  Falconer.  This  morning  I 
found  him  hurt — very  badly  hurt — " 

She  drove  straight  through  my  pretense. 

"Not  dead?     Oh,  Mr.  Bayne,  not  dead?" 

"Yes,"  I  said  gently.  "He  had  been  dead 
some  time.  I  would  have  liked  to  take  my 
chances  with  him;  but  I  came  too  late.  No, 
please!"  She  had  moved  forward,  and  I  was 
barring  her  passage.  "You  mustn't  go. 
You  can't  help  him,  and  you  would  n't  like  the 
sight." 

How  black  her  eyes  were  in  her  white  face ! 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  faltered.  "You 
mean  that  he  was  murdered?  But  who  would 
have  killed  Georges?" 

"The  men  who  came  last  night — if  you  can 
call  them  men.  At  least,  appearances  point 
that  way,"  I  said. 

"The  men  in  the  gray  car?"  She  swayed  a 
httle.     "But  why?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you  that."  My 
tone  was  grim ;  there  were  so  many  things  about 
this  matter  that  I  could  n't  tell. 


214    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Her  eyes  flashed  for  an  instant. 

"But  how  cowardly,  how  cruel!  He  never 
hurt  any  one;  he  was  just  hke  a  good  watch- 
dog, the  truest,  most  faithful  soul  I  If  they 
killed  him  they  did  it  for  some  deliberate  pur- 
pose. And  when  I  think  that  I  brought  him 
here — oh,  oh,  Mr.  Bayne — " 

"Yes,"  I  broke  in  hastily;  "I  should  like  to 
see  them  boil  in  oil  or  fry  on  gridirons  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort,  myself.  But  this  is  very 
serious;  we  must  keep  calm,  Miss  Falconer. 
And  I  know  you  are  going  to  help  me.  You 
have  such  splendid  self-control." 

Though  there  were  sobs  in  her  throat,  she 
pressed  her  hands  to  her  lips  and  stifled  them. 
Only  her  pallor  and  her  wet  lashes  showed  the 
horror  and  grief  she  felt.  I  wanted  desper- 
ately to  comfort  her,  but  there  was  no  time  for 
it;  and  besides,  who  ever  heard  of  a  leather- 
coated  comforter  in  a  kitchen  garden  at  5  a.  m.? 

"What  I  wanted  to  speak  about,"  I  went  on 
rapidly,  "was  our  plans.  This  may  prove  a 
rather  nasty  mess,  I  'm  sorry  to  say.  The 
French  police,  you  know,  are — well,  they  're 


"I  MUST  GO  ON"  215 

capable  and  very  thorough;  and  since  you  are 
here  at  the  scene  of  a  murder  in  an  infirmiere's 
costume,  they  will  never  rest  till  they  have  seen 
your  papers,  learned  your  errand,  asked  you 
a  hundred  things.  Unless  your  replies  are 
absolutely  satisfactory,  the  whole  business  will 
be — er — awkward  for  you.  That  is  why  I 
put  on  these  togs.  Yes,  I  know  it  is  ghastly," 
I  owned  as  she  shuddered.  "And  that  is  why  I 
want  to  beg  you,  very  seriously  indeed,  to  let 
me  drive  you  back  to  Paris  and  put  you  under 
your  friends'  protection.  After  that,  of 
course,  I  '11  return  here  to  see  the  thing  through 
and  give  my  testimony  about  it  all." 

It  was  not  going  to  be  so  simple,  the  course 
I  had  outhned  airily.  When  I  visioned  myself 
explaining  to  a  French  commissaire  why  I  had 
come  to  Bleau  at  all ;  why  I  had  set  up  a  false 
claim  to  be  an  artist, — for  that  circumstance 
was  sure  to  leak  out  and  look  darkly  incriminat- 
ing,— and  what  had  inspired  me  to  take  a  mur- 
dered man's  clothes  and  conceal  his  body,  I 
can't  pretend  that  I  felt  much  zest.  Still,  if 
the  police  and  the  girl  came  together,  worse 


216    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

would  follow,  I  was  certain ;  and  it  seemed  like 
a  real  catastrophe  when  she  slowly  shook  her 
head. 

"I  can't,"  she  mimnured.  "Oh,  it's  kind 
of  you,  and  I  'm  sorry ;  but  I  can't  go  back  to 
Paris — ^not  yet,  Mr.  Bayne.  You  won't  un- 
derstand, of  course,  but  I  left  there  to — to  ac- 
complish something.  And  since  poor  Georges 
can't  help  me  now,  I  must  go  on — alone." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

I  BURN    MY   BRIDGES 

IF  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,  and  it  is  not  im- 
probable since  I  am  healthy,  I  shall  never 
forget  that  little  garden  at  the  inn  at  Bleau. 
It  was  a  vegetable  garden  too,  which  is  not  in 
itself  romantic.  I  recall  vaguely  that  there 
were  beds  all  about  us,  which  in  due  course 
would  doubtless  sprout  into  rows  of  pale  green 
objects — peas  and  artichokes,  or  beans  and 
cabbages  maybe;  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure. 
But  then,  there  was  the  stream  running  just 
outside  the  wall  of  masonry ;  there  was  the  sky, 
flushing  with  that  faint,  very  delicate,  very 
lovely  pink  that  an  early  spring  morning 
brings  in  France;  there  was  the  quaint  build- 
ing, wrapped  up  in  slumber,  beside  us;  and  in 
the  air  a  silent,  fragrant  dimness,  the  promise 
of  the  dawn, 

217 


218    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

And  then  there  was  the  girl.  I  suppose 
that  was  the  main  thing.  Not  that  I  felt  sen- 
timental. I  should  have  scouted  the  notion. 
If  I  meant  to  fall  in  love, — which,  I  should 
have  said,  I  had  no  idea  of  doing, — I  would 
certainly  not  begin  the  process  in  this  unheard- 
of  spot.  No;  it  was  simply  that  the  whole 
business  of  caring  for  Miss  Esme  Falconer 
had  suddenly  devolved  upon  my  shoulders ;  and 
that  instead  of  my  feeling  bored,  or  annoyed, 
or  exasperated  at  the  prospect,  my  spirits  rose 
inexplicably  to  face  the  need. 

Here,  if  ever,  was  the  time  for  the  questions 
I  had  planned  last  evening.  But  I  didn't 
ask  them;  I  knew  I  should  never  ask  them. 
In  those  few  long  unforgetable  moments  when 
I  stood  in  the  gallery  and  wondered  whether 
she  were  living,  my  point  of  view  had  altered. 
I  was  through  with  suspecting  her;  I  was 
prepared  to  laugh  at  evidence,  however  damn- 
ing. As  for  the  men  in  the  gray  car  and  their 
detailed  accusations,  I  didn't  give — ^well,  a  loud 
outcry  in  the  infernal  regions  for  them.  I 
knew  the  standards  of  the  land  they  served. 


I  BURN  MY  BRIDGES         219 

and  I  had  seen  their  work  this  morning.  If 
they  were  French  officers,  I  would  do  France 
a  service  by  going  after  them  with  a  gun. 

The  girl  had  sunk  down  on  the  ancient  bench 
beside  me.  Her  eyes,  wide  and  distressed,  yet 
resolute,  went  to  my  heart.  Not  a  figure,  I 
thought  again,  for  this  atmosphere  of  intrigue 
and  secrecy  and  danger.  Rather  a  girl,  beau- 
tiful, brilliant,  spirited,  to  be  shielded  from 
every  jostle  of  existence;  the  sort  of  girl  whom 
men  hold  it  a  test  of  manhood  to  protect  from 
even  the  most  passing  discomfiture! 

But  time  was  moving  apace.  We  must  set- 
tle on  something  in  short  order.  I  spoke  in 
the  most  matter-of-fact  tones  that  I  could  sum- 
mon, not,  heaven  knows,  out  of  a  feeling  of 
levity  concerning  what  had  happened,  but  to 
try  to  lighten  the  grim  business  a  degree  or 
so  and  keep  us  sane. 

"I  think.  Miss  Falconer,"  I  began,  standing 
before  her,  **that  we  have  got  to  thrash  this 
matter  out  at  last.  You  think  I  Ve  behaved 
imspeakably,  trailing  you  everywhere,  and  I 
don't  deny  I  have,  according  to  your  point  of 


220    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

view.  But  the  fact  is,  I  did  n't  follow  you  to 
annoy  you ;  I  'm  a  half-way  decent  fellow. 
You  have  simply  got  to  trust  me  until  I  Ve 
seen  you  through  this  tangle.  After  that,  if 
you  like,  you  need  never  look  at  me  again." 

Her  troubled  eyes  rested  on  me,  half  be- 
wildered. 

"Why,  I  'd  forgotten  all  that,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  do  trust  you,  Mr.  Bayne.  Of 
course  I  must  have  misunderstood  you  in  some 
way  last  evening,  and  I  'm  afraid  I  was  dis- 
agreeable." 

"Naturally.  You  had  to  be.  Now,  if 
that 's  all  right  and  I  'm  forgiven,  may  I  ask 
a  question  ?  About  those  men  who  arrived  last 
night  and  apparently  killed  your  chauffeur — 
can  you  guess  who  they  are?" 

"Yes,"  she  faltered,  looking  down  at  the 
pebbled  walk.  "They  must  have  been  sent  by 
the  Government  or  the  army  or  the  police.  If 
the  French  knew  what  I  was  doing,  they 
would  n't  understand  my  motives.  I  Ve  been 
afraid  from  the  first  that  they  would  learn." 

Another  of  my  precious  theories  was  going 


I  BURN  MY  BRIDGES         221 

up  in  smoke.  Not  seeing  why  a  set  of  bona- 
fide  officers  should  gratuitously  murder  a 
chauffeur,  I  had  been  wondering  whether  the 
quartet  might  not  be  impostors,  tricked  out  in 
uniforms  to  which  they  had  no  claim.  Still, 
of  course,  I  couldn't  judge.  If  she  would 
only  confide  in  me  I  I  was  fairly  aching  to  help 
her ;  yet  how  could  I,  in  this  blindfold  way  ? 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  impertinent,"  I  ventured 
at  length,  meekly,  "and  I  give  you  my  word 
I  'm  not  trying  to  find  out  anything  you  don't 
want  me  to.  Only,  assuming  I  've  got  some 
sense, — in  case  you  care  to  be  so  amiable, — 
I  'd  like  to  put  it  at  your  service.  Do  you 
think  you  could  give  me  just  a  vague  outline 
of  your  plans?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  a  piteous,  uncertain 
manner.  I  braced  myself  for  a  "No."  Then, 
suddenly,  she  seemed  to  decide  to  trust  me — 
in  sheer  desperate  loneliness,  I  dare  say. 

"I  am  going,"  she  whispered,  "to  a  village 
in  the  war  zone — where  there  is  a  chateau. 
There  are  things  in  it — some  papers;  at  least 
I  believe  there  are.     It  is  just  a  chance,  just 


222    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

a  forlorn  hope;  but  it  means  all  the  world  to 
certain  people.  I  have  to  act  in  secret  till  I 
have  succeeded,  and  then  every  one  in  France, 
every  one  on  earth  may  know  all  that  I  have 
done!" 

If  I  had  not  burned  my  bridges,  this  an- 
nouncement might  have  worried  me ;  it  was  too 
vague,  and  what  little  I  grasped  tallied  start- 
lingly  with  Van  Blarcom's  rigmarole.  How- 
ever, having  vowed  allegiance,  I  did  n't  blink 
an  eyelid. 

"Yes,"  I  said  encouragingly.  "Is  it  very 
far?" 

Her  eyes  went  past  me  anxiously,  watching 
the  inn  and  its  blank  windows,  as  she  fumbled 
in  her  coat  and  brought  forth  a  motor  map. 

"Take  it,"  she  breathed,  thrusting  it  toward 
me.  "Look  at  it.  Do  you  see?  The  route 
in  red!" 

As  I  realized  the  astounding  thing  I  choked 
down  an  exclamation.  There,  beneath  my 
finger,  lay  the  village  of  Bleau,  a  tiny  dot; 
and  from  it,  straight  into  the  war  zone,  the 
traced  hne  ran  through  Le  Moreau  and  Croix- 


I  BURN  MY  BRIDGES         223 

le-Valois  and  St.  Remilly;  ran  to — what  was 
the  name?     I  spelled  it  out:  P-r-e-z-e-1-a-y. 

Though  it  was  early  in  the  game  to  be  a 
wet  blanket,  I  found  myself  gasping. 

"But,"  I  protested  weakly,  "you  can't  do 
that!  It 's  in  the  war  country;  it 's  forbidden 
territory.  One  has  to  have  safe-conducts, 
laisseZ'passerSj  all  sorts  of  documents  to  get 
into  that  part  of  France." 

"I  didn't  come  unprepared,"  she  answered 
stubbornly.  "Before  I  started  I  knew  just 
what  I  should  need.  I  can  get  as  far  as  the 
hospital  at  Carrefonds;  and  Carrefonds  is  be- 
yond Prezelay,  ten  miles  nearer  to  the  Front!" 

"But — "  The  monosyllable  was  distinctly 
tactless. 

She  straightened,  challenging  me  with  brave, 
defiant  eyes. 

"I  know,"  she  flashed.  "You  mean  it  looks 
suspicious.  Well,  it  does;  and  if  I  told  you 
everything,  it  would  look  more  suspicious  still. 
You  shouldn't  have  followed  me;  when  they 
learn  that  we  both  spent  the  night  here  they 
will  think  you  are  my — my  accomplice.     The 


224    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

best  advice  I  can  give  you,  Mr.  Bayne,  is  to  go 
away." 

"Perhaps  we  had  better,"  I  agreed  stolidly. 
I  had  deserved  the  outburst.  "Shall  we  be 
off  at  once,  before  the  servants  come  down- 
stairs?" 

She  drew  back,  her  eyes  widening. 

"We?"  she  repeated. 

"Naturally!"  I  replied,  with  some  temper. 
"I  must  have  disgusted  you  last  night.  What 
sort  of  a  miserable,  spineless,  cowardly,  cad- 
dish travesty  of  a  man  do  you  take  me  for,  to 
think  I  would  let  you  go  alone?" 

"Please  don't  joke,"  she  urged  distressedly. 
"It  simply  isn't  possible.  You  would  get 
into  trouble  with  the  French  Government, 
and—" 

"Do  you  know,"  I  grinned,  "it  is  rather  ex- 
hilarating to  snap  one's  fingers  at  governments? 
Just  see  what  success  I  made  of  it  with  Great 
Britain  and  Italy,  on  the  ship  I" 

"You  don't  realize  what  you  are  laughing 
at,"  she  pleaded.     "It  is  dangerous." 

"I  won't  disgrace  you.     I  seldom  tremble 


I  BURN  MY  BRIDGES         225 

visibly,  Miss  Falconer,  though  I  often  shake 
inside." 

Her  great  gray  eyes  were  glowing  mistily. 

"Mr.  Bayne,  this  is  splendid  of  you.  I — ^I 
shall  go  on  more  bravely  because  you  have 
been  so  kind.  But  I  won't  let  you  make  such 
a  sacrifice  or  mix  in  a  thing  that  others  may 
think  disloyal,  treacherous.  You  know  how 
it  looks.  Why,  on  the  steamer  and  on  the 
way  up  to  France  and  even  last  evening — you 
see  I  've  guessed  now  why  you  followed  me — 
you  did  n't  trust  me  yourself." 

"I  know  it,"  I  confessed  humbly.  "I  can't 
believe  I  was  such  an  idot.  Somebody  ought 
to  perform  a  surgical  operation  on  my  brain. 
I  apologize ;  I  'm  down  in  the  dust ;  I  feel 
like  groveling.  Won't  you  forgive  me?  I 
promise  you  won't  have  to  do  it  twice." 

This  time  it  was  she  who  said :  "But — "  and 
paused  uncertainly.  I  could  see  she  was  wav- 
ering, and  I  massed  my  horse,  foot,  and  dra- 
goons for  the  attack. 

"You  '11  please  consider  me,"  I  proclaimed 
firmly,  "to  be  a  tyrant.     I  am  so  much  bigger 


226    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

than  you  are  that  you  can't  possibly  drive  me 
off.  I  don't  mean  to  interfere  or  to  ask  ques- 
tions, or  to  bother  you.  But  I  vow  I'm  com- 
ing with  you  if  I  cling  to  the  running-board!" 

Her  lashes  fluttered  as  she  racked  her  brains 
for  new  protests. 

"The  car  is  a  French  make,"  she  urged, — 
"which  you  couldn't  drive — " 

"I  can  drive  any  car  with  four  wheels!" 
I  exclaimed  vaingloriously.  "It 's  kismet, 
Miss  Falconer ;  it 's  the  hand  of  Providence, 
no  less.  Now,  we  '11  leave  these  notes  in  the 
salle  a  manger  to  pay  for  our  lodging,  which 
would  have  been  dear  at  twopence,  and  be  off, 
if  you  please,  for  Prezelay." 

She  had  yielded.  We  were  standing  side 
by  side  in  the  silence  of  the  morning,  the  dim- 
ness fading  round  us,  the  air  taking  a  golden 
tinge.  My  surroundings  were  plebeian;  my 
costume  was  comic;  yet  I  felt  oddly  uplifted. 

"Jolly  old  garden,  isn't  it?"  said  I. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN   THE   HIGH   GEAR 

TO  pass  straight  from  a  humdrum,  com- 
fortable, conventionally  ordered  life  into 
a  career  of  insane  adventure  is  a  step  that  is 
radical ;  but  it  can  be  exhilarating,  and  I  proved 
the  fact  that  day.  To  dwell  on  present  danger 
was  to  forget  the  past  hour  in  the  garage,  which 
I  had  to  forget  or  begin  gibbering.  Once  com- 
mitted to  the  adventure  and  away  from  the 
scene  of  the  murder,  I  found  a  positive  relief 
in  facing  the  madness  of  the  affair. 

While  the  girl  sat  silent  and  listless,  blotted 
against  the  cushions,  rousing  from  her  thoughts 
only  to  indicate  the  turns  of  the  road,  I  had 
time  for  cogitation;  and  I  began  to  feel  like  a 
man  who  has  drunk  freely  of  champagne. 
Hitherto  I  had  been  a  law-abiding  citizen. 
Now  I  had  kicked  over  the  traces.  Like  the 
distinguished  fraternity  that  includes  Raffles 


228    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

and  Arsene  Lupin,  I  should  be  "wanted"  by 
the  police,  those  good-natured,  deferential  be- 
ings so  given  to  saluting  and  grinning,  with 
whom,  save  for  occasional  episodes  not  uncon- 
nected with  the  speed  laws, — Dunny  says  libel- 
ously  that  my  progress  in  an  automobile  re- 
sembles a  fabulous  monster  with  a  flying  car 
for  the  head,  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  gasoline  for 
the  body,  and  a  cohort  of  incensed  motor-cycle 
men  for  the  tail, — I  had  lived  on  the  most  cor- 
dial terms. 

I  was  not  certain  whether  they  would  accuse 
me  of  murder  or  espionage.  There  were  pegs 
enough,  undeniably,  on  which  to  hang  either 
charge.  Myself,  I  rather  inclined  to  the  lat- 
ter; the  case  was  so  clear,  so  detailed  I  My 
rush  from  Paris  to  Bleau, — in  order,  no  doubt, 
that  I  might  at  an  unostentatious  spot  join 
forces  with  my  confederate,  Miss  Falconer, 
whom  I  had  been  meeting  at  intervals  ever 
since  we  left  New  York  in  company, — ^my 
behavior  there,  and  the  fashion  in  which  we 
were  vanishing  should  suffice  to  doom  me  as  a 
spy. 


IN  THE  HIGH  GEAR         229 

When  the  French  began  tracing  my  move- 
ments, when  they  joined  my  present  activities 
to  the  fact  that  only  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth 
had  I  escaped  a  charge  of  bringing  German 
papers  into  Italy,  there  would  be  the  devil  to 
pay.  I  acknowledged  it;  then — really,  this 
brand-new,  unfounded,  cast-iron  trust  of  mine 
in  Miss  Falconer  was  changing  me  beyond 
recognition — I  recalled  the  old  recipe  for  the 
preparation  of  Welsh  rabbit,  and  light-heart- 
edly challenged  the  authorities  to  "catch  me 
first."  I  had  a  disguise ;  if  I  bore  any  superior 
earmarks  my  leather  coat  obliterated  them ;  and 
I  could  drive ;  even  Dario  Resta  could  not  have 
sniffed  at  my  technic.  Better  still,  my  French, 
learned  even  before  my  English,  would  not 
betray  me.  As  nurse  and  as  mecamden,  we 
stood  a  fair  chance  in  our  masquerade. 

I  might  have  to  pay  my  shot,  but  I  was  en- 
joying it.  This  was  a  good  world  tlirough 
which  we  were  speeding;  life  was  in  the  high 
gear  to-day.  The  car  purred  beneath  us 
like  a  splendid,  harnessed  tiger;  the  spring  air 
was  fresh  and  fragrant,  the  country  charming, 


230    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

with  here  a  forest,  there  a  valley,  farther  off  the 
tiled,  colored  roofs  of  some  little  town.  Our 
road,  like  a  white  ribbon,  wound  itself  out  end- 
lessly between  stone  walls  or  brown  fields.  In 
my  content  I  forgot  food  and  such  prosaic 
details  till  I  noticed  that  the  girl  looked  pale. 

*'I  say,"  I  exclaimed  remorsefully;  "we've 
been  omitting  rolls  and  coffee !  I  'm  going  to 
get  you  some  at  the  first  town  we  pass." 

"We  are  coming  to  a  town  now,  to  Le 
Moreau."     She  was  looking  anxious. 

"Yes?  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  place  it  exactly. 
Ought  I  to?" 

"It  is  the  first  town  in  the  war  zone.  And 
— and  our  road  passes  through  it." 

"Oh!"  I  was  enlightened.  "Then  they  will 
probably  ask  to  see  our  papers  at  the  octroi?'' 

"Yes." 

The  car  was  eating  up  the  smooth  white 
road;  I  could  see  the  little  octroi  building 
at  the  town  boundary-line,  and  a  group  of 
gendarmes  in  readiness  close  by.  It  was  a 
critical  moment.  Miss  Falconer,  I  recaUed, 
had  said  she  could  get  through  to  Carrefonds ; 


IN  THE  HIGH  GEAR         231 

but  glittering  generalities  were  not  likely  to 
convince  these  sentries;  one  needed  safe-con- 
ducts, passes,  identity  cards,  and  such  concrete 
aids.  She  could  n't  give  a  reasonable  account 
of  herself,  I  felt  quite  certain ;  and  even  if  she 
did,  how  was  she  to  account  for  me? 

As  I  brought  the  car  to  a  standstill,  my  con- 
science clamored,  and  my  costume  seemed  to 
shriek  incongruity  from  every  seam.  In  this 
dilenmia  I  trusted  to  sheer  blind  luck — a  rather 
thrilling  business.  As  a  gray-headed  sergeant 
stepped  forward  to  welcome  us,  I  looked  him 
unfalteringly  in  the  eye,  though  I  wondered  if 
he  would  not  say : 

"Monsieur,  kindly  remove  that  childish 
travesty  with  which  you  are  trying  to  impose 
on  justice.  We  know  all  about  you.  Your 
name  is  Devereux  Bayne.  You  are  a  German 
agent  and  intriguer;  you  have  smuggled 
papers;  you  have  murdered  a  man  and  con- 
cealed his  body.  Unless  you  can  give  a  satis- 
factory explanation  of  all  your  actions  since 
leaving  New  York,  your  last  hour  has  arrived  1" 

What  he  really  said  was: 


232    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Mademoiselle's  papers?"  He  spoke  quite 
amiably,  a  catlike  pretense,  no  doubt. 

Miss  Falconer  was  no  longer  looking  anx- 
ious. Her  hands  were  steady;  she  was  even 
smiling  as  she  produced  two  neat  little  packets 
that,  on  being  unfolded,  proved  to  have 
all  the  air  of  permits,  laissez-passers,  and  police 
cards.  Two  nondescript  photographs,  which 
might  have  represented  almost  any  one, 
adorned  them,  and  of  these  our  sergeant  made 
a  perfunctory  survey. 

"Mademoiselle's  name,"  he  recited  in  a  high 
singsong,  "is  Marie  Le  Clair.  She  is  a  nurse, 
on  her  way  to  the  hospital  at  Carrefonds.  And 
this  is  Jacques  Carton,  who  is  her  chauffeur?" 

A  singularly  stupid  person,  on  the  whole,  he 
must  have  thought  me,  hardly  fit  to  be  trusted 
with  so  superb  a  car.  My  mouth,  I  fancy,  was 
wide  open ;  I  can't  swear  that  I  was  n't  pop- 
eyed.  This  last  development  had  completely 
addled  me.  Marie  Le  Clair!  Jacques  Car- 
ton!   Who  were  they? 

"I  wish,"  I  remarked  into  the  air  as  we 


IN  THE  HIGH  GEAR         233 

drove  on,  "that  some  one  would  pinch  me — 
hard." 

She  smiled  faintly.  Now  it  was  over,  she 
looked  a  little  tremulous. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  "we  are  not  dream- 
ing.    Poor  Georges!     I  wish  we  were!" 

Such  was  the  incredible  beginning  of  our 
adventure.  And  as  it  began,  so  it  continued. 
We  breakfasted  at  Le  Moreau.  Miss  Fal- 
coner ate  in  the  dining-room  of  the  small  hotel ; 
I  sought  the  kitchen  and,  warmed  by  our  late 
success,  I  did  not  shrink  from  playing  my  role. 
Then  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  though  we 
showed  our  papers  twenty  times  at  least  as  the 
control  grew  stricter,  they  were  never  chal- 
lenged. I  rubbed  my  eyes  sometimes.  Surely 
I  should  wake  up  presently !  We  could  n't  be 
here  in  the  forbidden  region,  in  the  war  zone, 
plunging  deeper  every  instant,  in  peril  of  our 
lives. 

Yet  the  proof  was  thick  about  us.  In  the 
towns  we  passed  we  saw  troops  alight  from  the 
trains  and  enter  them;  we  saw  farewells  and 


284    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

reunions,  the  latter  sometimes  tearful,  but  the 
former  invariably  brave.  We  saw  depdts 
where  trucks  and  ambulances  and  commissary- 
carts  were  filled,  and  canteens  and  soup 
kitchens  where  soldiers  were  being  fed.  At 
Croix-le-Valois  we  saw  the  air  turn  black  with 
the  smoke  of  the  munition  factories  that  were 
working  day  and  night.  At  St.  Remilly  above 
the  towers  of  the  old  chateau  we  saw  the  Red 
Cross  flying,  and  on  the  terraces  the  reclin- 
ing figures  of  wounded  men.  It  seemed  im- 
possible that  sight-seers  and  pleasure-seekers 
had  thronged  along  this  road  so  lately.  The 
signs  of  the  Touring  Club  of  France,  posted 
at  intervals,  were  survivals  of  an  era  that  was 
now  utterly  gone. 

With  the  coming  of  afternoon,  the  coimtry 
grew  still  more  beautiful.  Orchards  were 
thick  about  us,  though  the  trees  were  leafless 
now.  The  little  thatched  cottages  had  odd 
fungi  sprouting  from  their  roofs  like  rosy 
mushrooms ;  the  trees  and  streams  had  a  silvery 
shimmer,  like  a  Corot  fairy-land. 

Then,  set  like  sign-posts  of  desolation  in  this 


IN  THE  HIGH  GEAR  235 

loveliness,  came  the  ravaged  villages.  We 
were  on  ^he  soil  where  in  the  first  month  of  the 
war  the  Germans  had  trod  as  conquerors,  and 
where,  step  by  step,  the  French  had  driven 
them  back.  We  passed  Cormizy,  burnt  to  the 
ground  to  celebrate  its  taking;  Le  Remy, 
where  the  heroic  mayor  had  died,  transfixed 
by  twenty  bayonets;  Bar-Villers,  a  group  of 
ruined  houses  about  a  mourning,  shattered 
church.  It  was  the  region  where  the  Hun 
triumph  had  spoken  aloud,  unbridled.  Miss 
Falconer  sat  white  and  silent  as  we  drove 
through  it;  my  hands  tightened  on  the  wheel. 

We  had  lunched  at  Tolbiac,  late  and  abom- 
inably. Then,  leaving  the  highway,  we  had 
taken  a  country  road.  Two  punctures  befell 
us;  once  our  carburetor  betrayed  the  trust  we 
placed  in  it.  By  the  time  these  deficiencies 
were  remedied  I  had  collected  dust  and  grease 
enough  to  look  my  part. 

It  had  been,  by  and  large,  a  singularly 
speechless  day,  which  my  spasmodic  efforts  at 
entertainment  had  failed  to  cheer.  The  girl 
tried  to  respond,  but  her  eyes  were  strained, 


236    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

eager,  shadowed ;  her  answers  came  at  random. 
My  talk,  I  suppose,  teased  her  ears  like  the 
troublesome  buzzing  of  a  fly. 

"She  is  thinking,"  I  decided  at  last,  "about 
those  papers.  Lord,  if  she  does  n't  find  them 
she  is  going  to  take  it  hard  I" 

I  left  her  in  peace  after  that  and  drove  the 
faster.  Luck  was  with  us !  At  the  end  of  our 
journey  everything  would  be  all  right. 

As  evening  settled  down  on  us  the  road  grew 
increasingly  lonely.  Woods  of  oak-trees  were 
about  us,  their  trunks  mossy,  their  branches 
lacing;  on  our  left  was  a  narrow  river  thick 
with  rushes  and  smooth  green  stones.  So 
rutty  was  the  earth  that  our  wheels  sank  into 
it  and  our  engine  labored.  There  was  a  charm- 
ing sylvan  look  about  the  scenery;  we  seemed 
to  be  alone  in  the  universe:  I  could  not  recall 
when  we  had  last  seen  a  peasant  or  passed  a 
hut. 

Suddenly  I  realized  that  there  was  a  sound 
in  the  distance,  not  continuous,  but  steadily  re- 
current, a  faint  booming,  I  thought. 


IN  THE  HIGH  GEAR  237 

"What 's  that  noise  off  yonder?"  I  asked, 
with  one  ear  cocked  toward  the  east. 

Miss  Falconer  roused  herself. 

"It  is  the  cannonading,"  she  answered. 
"We  have  come  a  long  way,  Mr.  Bayne.  In 
two  hours — in  less  than  that — ^we  could  drive 
to  the  Front.     And  see!" 

The  dark  was  coming  fast;  a  crimson  sun- 
set was  reddening  the  river.  A  little  below 
us  on  the  opposite  bank,  I  saw  what  had  been 
a  village  once  upon  a  time.  But  some  agency 
of  destruction  had  done  its  work  there;  black- 
ened spaces  and  heaped  stones  and  the  shells  of 
dwellings  rose  tier  on  tier  among  trees  that 
seemed  trying  to  hide  them;  only  on  the  crest 
of  the  bank,  overlooking  the  wreck  like  a 
gloomy  sentinel,  one  building  loomed  intact, 
a  dark,  scarred,  frowning  castle  with  medieval 
walls  and  towers.  I  stared  at  the  scene  of 
desolation. 

"The  Germans  again !"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  the  girl  assented,  gazing  across  the 
water.     "They  came  here  at  the  beginning  of 


238    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

the  war.  They  burned  the  houses  and  the  huts 
and  the  little  church  with  the  image  of  the 
Virgin  and  the  tomb  of  the  old  constable — all 
Prezelay  except  the  chateau;  and  they  only 
left  that  standing  to  give  their  officers  a  home." 
With  an  automatic  action  of  feet  and  fin- 
gers, I  stopped  the  car.  Here  was  the  town 
that  she  had  shown  me  on  the  map  that  morn- 
ing when  we  sat  like  a  pair  of  whispering  con- 
spirators in  the  garden  of  the  Three  Kings. 
The  obstacles  which  had  seemed  so  great  had 
melted  away  before  us.  This  ruined  village, 
this  heap  of  stones  across  the  river,  was  our 
goal,  the  key  to  our  mystery,  the  last  scene  of 
our  drama — Prezelay. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   CASTLE  AT   PREZELAY 

IN  the  midst  of  my  triumph,  which  was  as 
intense  as  if  I  myself,  instead  of  pure  luck, 
had  engineered  our  journey,  I  became  aware 
of  a  tiny  qualm  as  I  sat  gazing  across  the 
stream.  Perhaps  the  gathering  night  affected 
me,  or  the  air,  which  was  growing  chilly,  or  the 
remnants  of  the  village,  which  were  cheerless, 
to  say  the  least.  But  that  castle,  perched  so 
darkly  on  its  crag,  with  a  strip  of  blood-red  sky 
framing  it,  was  at  the  heart  of  my  feeling.  If 
it  had  been  a  nice,  worldly-looking,  well-kept 
chateau,  with  poplared  walks  and  a  formal 
garden,  I  should  have  welcomed  it  with  open 
arms;  but  it  wasn't,  decidedly!  It  was  the 
threatening,  age-blackened  sort  of  place  that 
inevitably  suggests  Fulc  of  Anjou,  strong- 

239 


240    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

holds  on  the  Loire,  marauding  barons,  and  the 
good  old  days  with  their  concomitants  of  rapine 
and  robbery  and  death. 

It  was  picturesque,  but  it  was  intensely 
gloomy;  the  proper  spot  for  a  catastrophe 
rather  than  a  happy  denouement.  I  was  not 
impressionable,  of  course;  but  now  that  I 
thought  of  it,  our  jaunt  had  been  going  with 
a  smoothness  almost  ominous.  Could  one  ex- 
pect such  clock-like  regularity  to  run  forever 
without  a  break? 

Take  the  utter  disappearance  of  the  gray 
car,  for  instance.  That  had  seemed  to  me  re- 
assuring; but  was  it?  Those  four  men  had 
cared  enough  about  Miss  Falconer's  move- 
ments to  involve  themselves  in  a  murder. 
Why,  then,  should  they  have  given  up  the 
chase  in  so  mysterious  a  way? 

And  the  girl  herself!  When  I  looked  at  her 
I  felt  horribly  worried.  She  was  shivering 
through  her  furs ;  yet  it  was  not  with  the  cold,  I 
felt  quite  sure.  With  her  hands  clasped,  she 
sat  staring  at  that  confounded  castle  with  a 
look  of  actual  hunger.     She  cared  too  much 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    241 

about  this  thing;  she  couldn't  stand  a  great 
deal  more. 

Well,  she  would  n't  have  to,  I  concluded,  my 
brief  misgivings  fading.  We  were  out  of  the 
woods;  another  hour  would  see  the  business 
closed.  As  for  the  men  in  the  car,  they  were 
victims  of  their  guilty  consciences,  were  no 
doubt  in  full  flight  or  hiding  somewhere  in  ter- 
ror of  the  law. 

At  any  rate,  there  was  no  point  in  my  sitting 
here  like  a  graven  image;  so  I  roused  myself 
and  wrapped  the  rugs  closer  about  the  girl. 

"I  'm  to  drive  to  the  chateau?"  I  inquired 
with  recovered  cheerfulness.  I  had  to  repeat 
the  words  before  they  broke  her  trance. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  Suddenly,  impul- 
sively, she  turned  toward  me,  her  face  almost 
feverish,  her  eyes  astonishingly  large  and 
bright.  "I  haven't  told  you  much,"  she  ac- 
knowledged tremulously ;  "but  you  won't  think 
that  I  don't  trust  you.  It  is  only  that  I 
could  n't  talk  of  it  and  keep  my  courage ;  and  I 
must  keep  it  a  little  longer — until  we  know  the 
truth." 


242    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"That 's  quite  all  right,  Miss  Falconer."  I 
was  switching  on  the  lamps.  Then  I  extin- 
guished them;  their  clear  acetylene  glare 
seemed  almost  weirdly  out  of  place.  "We  can 
muddle  along  without  any  lights.  Not  much 
traffic  here,"  I  muttered.  I  had  a  feeling,  any- 
how, that  unostentatiousness  of  approach 
might  not  be  bad. 

There  was  intense  silence  about  us ;  not  even 
a  breeze  was  stirring.  A  thin  crescent  moon 
was  out,  silvering  the  river  and  the  trees.  The 
road  was  atrocious;  on  one  dark  stretch  the 
car,  rocking  into  a  rut,  jolted  us  viciously  and 
brought  my  teeth  together  on  the  tip  of  my 
tongue. 

"Sorry,"  I  gasped,  between  humiliation  and 
pain. 

With  the  silence  and  the  dimness,  we  were 
like  ghosts,  the  car  like  a  phantom.  An  old 
stone  bridge  seemed  to  beckon  us,  and  we 
crossed  to  the  other  side.  There,  at  Miss  Fal- 
coner's gesture,  I  drew  the  automobile  off  the 
road  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  halted  it  beneath 
some  trees,  and  helped  her  to  alight.     We 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    243 

started  up  the  hill  together  without  a  word. 

Two  ghosts !  More  and  more,  as  we  climbed 
through  the  wreck  and  desolation,  that  was 
what  we  seemed.  The  road  was  choked  with 
stones  between  which  the  grass  was  sprouting; 
there  was  nothing  left  of  the  little  church  save 
a  single  pointed  shaft.  We  climbed  rapidly, 
the  girl  always  gazing  up  at  the  castle  with  that 
same  feverish  eagerness.  She  had  forgotten,  I 
think,  that  I  was  there. 

At  last  we  were  coming  to  the  hilltop  and 
the  chateau.  Rather  breathless,  I  studied  its 
looming  walls,  its  turrets,  its  three  round  tow- 
ers. It  looked  dark  and  inexplicably  menac- 
ing, but  I  had  recovered  my  form  and  could 
defy  it.  When  we  halted  at  a  great  iron- 
studded  oak  gate  and  Miss  Falconer  pulled  the 
bell-rope,  I  was  astonished.  It  had  not  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  castle  would  be  more  in- 
habited than  the  town. 

Nor  was  it,  apparently;  for  no  one  answered 
the  summons,  though  I  could  hear  the  bell  jing- 
ling faintly  somewhere  within.  Miss  Falconer 
rang  a  second  time,  then  a  third;  her  face  shone 


244    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

white  in  the  moonlight;  she  was  growing 
anxious. 

"Did  you  think,"  I  ventured  finally,  "that 
there  was  some  one  here?" 

"Yes;  Marie- Jeanne,"  she  answered,  listen- 
ing intently.  Then  she  roused  herself.  "I 
mean  the  gardienne.  She  never  left,  not  even 
when  the  Germans  came.  They  made  her 
cook  for  them ;  she  said  she  had  been  born  in  the 
keeper's  lodge,  and  her  grandfather  before  her, 
and  that  she  would  rather  die  at  Prezelay  than 
go  to  any  other  place.  But  of  course  she  may 
have  walked  down  the  river  for  the  evening. 
Her  son's  wife  is  at  Santierre,  two  miles  off. 
She  may  be  there." 

"That's  it,"  I  agreed  hastily,  the  more 
hastily  because  I  doubted.  "She  's  sitting  over 
a  fire,  toasting  her  toes,  and  gossiping  and  hav- 
ing a  cup  of  tea,  or  whatever  people  like  that 
use  for  an  equivalent  in  these  parts."  I  sup- 
pressed the  unwelcome  thought  that  a  woman 
living  here  alone  ran  a  first-rate  chance  of  get- 
ting her  throat  cut  by  strolling  vagrants. 
"Shall  we  have  to  wait  until  she  comes  back?" 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    245 

I  asked.  "Then  let 's  sit  down.  I  choose  this 
stone!" 

On  my  last  word,  however,  something  sur- 
prising happened.  Miss  Falconer,  in  her  im- 
patience, put  a  hand  on  the  bolt  of  the  gate, 
shook  it,  and  raised  it,  and,  lo  and  behold !  the 
oak  frame  swung  open.  Before  I  quite  real- 
ized the  situation,  we  were  inside,  in  a  square 
courtyard,  with  the  gardiennes  lodge  at  the 
right  of  us,  impenetrably  barred  and  shuttered, 
and  before  us  the  portal  of  the  castle,  sur- 
mounted with  quaint  stone  carvings  of  men  in 
armor  riding  prancing  steeds.  The  court,  as 
revealed  by  the  moonhght,  was  intact,  but 
neglected.  Weeds  were  sprouting  between 
the  square  blocks  of  stone  that  paved  it,  and  in 
the  center  a  wide  circular  space,  charred  and 
blackened,  showed  where  the  German  sentries 
had  built  their  fires.  It  was  not  cheerful, 
nor  was  it  homey.  T  scarcely  blamed  Marie- 
Jeanne  for  flitting.  The  faint  sound  of  the 
cannonading  had  begun  again  in  the  distance, 
but  otherwise  the  place  was  as  silent  as  a  tomb. 

"It  seems  strange  I'*  Miss  Falconer  mur- 


246    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

mured,  looking  about  in  puzzled  fashion. 
"Why  in  the  world  should  she  have  left  the 
gate  open  in  this  careless  way?  Of  course 
there  is  nothing  here  for  thieves ;  the  Germans 
saw  to  that ;  but  still,  as  keeper —  Oh,  well,  it 
does  n't  matter.  It  saves  us  from  waiting  till 
she  comes  home." 

As  I  followed  her  toward  the  castle  entrance, 
she  opened  the  bag  she  carried,  and  produced  a 
candle,  which  I  hastened  to  take  and  light.  I 
nearly  said,  "The  latest  thing  in  the  house- 
breaking line,  madam,  is  electric  torches,  not 
tapers" ;  but  I  decided  not  to.  After  all,  per- 
haps we  were  housebreakers.  How  could  I 
tell? 

Hot  candle  wax  splashed  my  fingers  and 
scorched  them,  but  I  scarcely  noticed.  My 
sense  of  high-gear  adventure  had  reached  its 
zenith  now.  There  was  something  thrilling, 
something  stimulating  in  this  stealthy  night  en- 
trance into  a  deserted  castle.  It  was  an  ex- 
perience, at  all  events;  there  was  no  concierge 
to  stump  before  one  through  dim  passages  and 
up  winding  staircases;  no  flood  of  dates  and 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    247 

names  and  anecdotes  poured  inexorably  into 
one's  bored  ears  to  insure  a  douceur  when  the 
tour  of  the  chateau  should  be  done. 

The  door — faithless  Marie- Jeanne ! — opened 
as  readily  as  the  outer  gate.  We  were  enter- 
ing. I  glimpsed  in  a  dim  vista  a  superb  Gothic 
hall  of  magnificent  architecture  and  most  im- 
posing proportions,  arched  and  carved  and 
stretching  off  with  apparent  endlessness  into 
the  gloom.  Holding  up  my  light,  I  scanned 
the  place  with  growing  interest.  It  had  not 
been  demolished,  but  neither  had  it  been 
spared.  The  furniture  was  gone,  save  for  a 
few  scattered  chairs  and  a  table ;  the  walls  were 
defaced  with  cartoons  and  scrawled  inscrip- 
tions; the  floor  was  stained,  and  littered  with 
empty  bottles  and  broken  plates.  From  the 
chimney-place — a  medieval-art  jewel  topped 
with  carved  and  colored  enamels — pieces  had 
been  hacked  away  by  some  deliberately  de- 
structive hand.  I  glanced  at  Miss  Falconer, 
whose  eyes  had  been  following  mine. 

"They  tore  down  the  tapestries,"  she  said  be- 
neath her  breath.    "They  slashed  the  old  por- 


248    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

traits  with  their  swords  and  broke  the  windows 
and  took  away  the  statues  and  candlesticks  and 
plate.  They  cut  up  the  furniture  and  had  it 
used  for  fire- wood;  and  the  German  captain 
and  his  officers  had  a  feast  here  and  drank  to 
the  fall  of  Paris  and  ordered  their  soldiers  to 
burn  the  village  to  the  ground.  Oh,  I  don't 
like  the  place  any  more;  too  much  has  hap- 
pened. And — and  I  don't  like  Marie-Jeanne's 
not  being  here,  Mr.  Bayne.  I  feel  as  if  there 
were  something  wrong  about  it.  I  believe  I 
am  a  little — just  a  little  afraid!" 

"Come,  now,  you  don't  expect  me  to  believe 
that,  do  you?"  I  countered  promptly.  "Be- 
cause I  won't.  Why,  it 's  your  pluck  that  has 
kept  me  up  all  day.  Just  the  same,  on  general 
principles,  I  '11  take  a  look  round  if  you  '11 
allow  me.  Here  's  a  chair,  and  if  you  will  rest 
a  minute,  I  '11  guarantee  to  find  out." 

The  chair  I  mentioned  was  standing  near  the 
chimney,  and  as  I  spoke  I  walked  over  to  it  and 
started  to  spin  it  round.  It  resisted  me  heav- 
ily; I  bent  over  it,  lifting  my  candle.     Then  I 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    249 

uttered  an  ejaculation,  stood  petrified,  and 
stared. 

In  the  chair,  concealed  from  us  until  now  by 
the  high  carved  back  of  wood,  was  something 
which  at  first  looked  like  a  huddled  mass  of 
garments,  but  which  on  closer  scrutiny  re- 
solved itself  into  a  woman  in  a  striped  dress,  an 
apron,  and  a  pair  of  heavy  shoes.  There  was 
a  cut  on  her  cheek,  a  bruise  on  her  forehead. 
Locks  of  graying  hair  straggled  from  beneath 
her  disarranged  white  cap,  and  she  glared  at 
me  from  a  lean,  sallow  face  with  a  pair  of  terri- 
fied eyes. 

She  must  be  dead,  I  thought.  No  living 
woman  could  sit  so  still  and  stare  so  wildly. 
The  scene  in  the  inn  garage  rushed  back  upon 
me,  and  I  must  say  that  my  blood  turned  cold. 
But  she  was  alive,  I  saw  now ;  she  was  certainly 
breathing.  And  an  instant  later  I  realized 
why  she  stayed  so  immobile;  she  was  bound 
hand  and  foot  to  the  chair  she  sat  in,  and  a 
colored  handkerchief,  her  own  doubtless,  had 
been  twisted  across  her  mouth  to  form  a  gag. 


250    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"I  think,"  I  heard  myself  saying,  "that  we 
have  been  maligning  Marie- Jeanne." 

A  choked,  frightened  cry  from  Miss  Fal- 
coner made  me  wheel  about  sharply,  to  find  her 
staring  not  at  me,  but  at  the  further  wall. 
Prepared  now  for  anything  under  heaven,  I 
followed  her  gaze.  Above  us,  circling  the 
whole  hall,  there  ran  a  gallery  from  which  at  a 
distance  of  some  fifteen  feet  from  where  we 
stood  a  wide  stone  staircase  descended;  and 
half-way  down  this,  as  motionless  as  statues, 
as  indistinct  as  shadows,  I  saw  four  men  in  the 
uniform  of  officers  of  France. 

For  an  uncanny  moment  I  wondered 
whether  they  were  specters.  For  a  stupid  one, 
I  thought  they  might  be  people  whom  the  girl 
had  come  here  to  meet.  Still,  if  they  were,  she 
would  n't  be  looking  at  them  in  this  paralyzed 
fashion.  I  could  not  see  them  plainly, — ^but 
they  must  be  the  men  from  Bleau. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bayne,"  the  foremost  was  ask- 
ing, "did  you  think  we  had  deserted  you?  Not 
a  bit  of  it  I  We  came  on  ahead  and  rang  up 
the  old  woman  there  and  commandeered  her 


THE  CASTLE  AT  PREZELAY    251 

keys.  We  Ve  been  killing  time  here  for  a  good 
half  hour,  waiting  for  you.  You  must  have 
had  tire  trouble.  And  you  don't  seem  very 
pleased  to  see  us  now  that  you  've  come — eh, 
what?" 

At  Bleau  the  previous  night,  I  was  recalling 
dazedly,  there  had  been  only  three  men  wear- 
ing the  horizon  blue.  Who  was  this  fourth 
figure,  who  knew  my  name  and  spoke  such  col- 
loquial English?  I  raised  my  candle  as  high 
as  possible  and  scanned  him.  Then  I  stood 
transfixed. 

"Van  Blarcom!"  I  gasped.  "And  in  a  uni- 
form, by  all  that 's  holy!" 

He  grinned. 

"No.  You  haven't  got  that  quite  right," 
he  told  me.  "What 's  the  use  keeping  up  the 
game  now  that  we  're  here,  all  friends  together? 
My  name  is  n't  Van  Blarcom.  It 's  Franz  von 
Blenheim,  Mr.  Bayne." 


CHAPTER  XX 

INTRODUCING  HERE  lEANZ   VON   BLENHEIM 

THE  words  of  Franz  von  Blenheim  seemed 
to  fill  the  hall  and  reecho  from  the  walls 
and  arches,  deafening  me,  leaving  me  stunned 
as  if  by  an  earthquake  or  by  a  flash  of  light- 
ning from  clear  skies.  Yet  I  never  thought  of 
doubting  them.  Comatose  as  my  state  was, 
slowly  as  my  brain  was  working,  I  recognized 
vaguely  how  many  features  of  the  mystery, 
both  past  and  present,  these  words  explained. 
It  was  odd,  but  never  once  had  it  occurred  to 
me  that  Van  Blarcom  might  be  a  German. 
He  himself,  I  began  to  realize,  had  taken  care 
of  that.  With  considerable  acumen  he  had 
filled  every  one  of  our  brief  interviews  with 
vigorous  denunciations  of  somebody  else,  dark 
hints  as  to  intrigues  that  surrounded  me  and 
might  enmesh  me,  and  solemn  warnings  and 

252 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       253 

prudent  counsels,  which  had  brilliantly  served 
his  turn.  He  had  kept  me  so  busy  suspecting 
Miss  Falconer — at  the  thought  I  could  have 
beaten  my  head  against  the  wall  in  token  of  my 
abject  shame — that  my  doubts  had  never 
glanced  in  his  direction;  a  most  humiliating 
confession,  since  I  couldn't  deny,  reviewing 
the  past  in  this  new  light,  that  circumstances 
had  afforded  me  every  opportunity  to  guess 
the  truth. 

There  was  no  time,  however,  for  dwelling  on 
my  deficiencies.  The  next  half  hour  would  be 
an  uncommonly  lively  one,  I  felt  quite  sure.  I 
might  call  the  thing  bizarre,  fantastic ;  I  might 
dub  it  an  extravaganza;  the  fact  remained  that 
I  was  shut  up  in  this  lonely  spot  with  four  en- 
tirely able-bodied  Germans  and  must  match 
wits  with  them  over  some  affair  that  apparently 
was  of  international  consequence;  for  if  it  had 
been  a  twopenny  business,  Herr  von  Blenheim, 
the  star  agent  of  the  kaiser,  would  never  have 
thought  it  worth  his  pains. 

With  all  my  fighting  spirit  rising  to  meet  the 
odds  against  us,  I  cast  a  speculative  eye  over 


254    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

the  Teutons,  who  had  now  dissolved  their 
group.  Van  Blarcom  himself — Blenheim, 
rather — descended  in  a  leisurely  fashion  while 
one  of  his  friends,  remaining  on  the  staircase, 
fixed  me  with  a  look  of  intentness  almost  omi- 
nous and  the  other  two  placed  themselves  as  if 
casually  before  the  door.  They  were  stalwart, 
well  set-up  men,  I  acknowledged  as  I  surveyed 
them.  Though  not  bad  at  what  our  French 
friends  call  la  hoxe,  I  was  outnumbered.  It 
was  obviously  a  case  of  strategy — ^but  of  what 
sort? 

A  much  defaced  table,  flanked  with  a  few 
battered  chairs,  stood  near  me,  and  with  a  pre- 
monition that  I  should  want  two  hands  pres- 
ently, I  set  my  candle  there.  Then  I  drew  a 
chair  forward  and  turned  to  the  girl  with  out- 
ward coolness. 

"Please  sit  down.  Miss  Falconer,"  I  invited. 
I  wanted  time. 

She  inclined  her  head  and  obeyed  me  very 
quietly.  She  was  not  afraid;  I  saw  it  with  a 
rush  of  pride.  As  she  sat  erect,  her  head 
thrown  back,  one  gloved  hand  resting  on  the 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       255 

table,  she  was  a  picture  of  spirit  and  steadiness 
and  courage.  If  I  had  needed  strength  I 
should  have  found  it  in  the  fact  that  her  eyes, 
oddly  darkened  as  always  when  her  errand  was 
threatened,  did  not  rest  on  our  captors,  but 
turned  toward  me. 

"We  '11  all  sit  down,"  Franz  von  Blenheim 
agreed  most  amiably.  It  evidently  amused 
him  to  retain  the  late  Mr.  Van  Blarcom's  dia- 
lect and  air.  "We  can  fix  this  business  up  in 
no  time;  so  why  not  be  sociable?"  He  strolled 
to  a  chair  and  sank  into  it  and  motioned  me  to 
do  the  same. 

"Thanks,"  I  returned,  not  complying.  "If 
you  don't  mind,  I  'd  like  first  to  untie  that 
woman.  I  confess  to  a  queer  sort  of  prejudice 
against  seeing  women  bound  and  gagged.  In 
fact  I  feel  so  strongly  on  the  subject  that  it 
might  spoil  our  whole  conference  for  me."  I 
took  a  step  toward  the  shadowy  figure  of 
Marie-Jeanne. 

Blenhehn  did  not  move,  but  his  eyes  seemed 
to  narrow  and  darken. 

"Just  leave  her  alone  for  the  present.     She 


256    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

is  too  fond  of  shrieking — might  interrupt  our 
argument,"  he  declared.  "And  see  here,  Mr. 
Bayne,"  he  added,  warned  by  my  manner,  "I 
want  to  call  your  attention  to  the  gentleman  on 
the  stairs,  my  friend  Schwartzmann.  He  's  a 
crack  shot,  none  better,  and  he  has  got  you 
covered.  Hadn't  you  better  sit  down  and 
have  a  friendly  chat?" 

Though  the  stairs  were  dim,  I  could  see 
something  glittering  in  the  hand  of  the  person 
mentioned,  who  was  impersonating  for  the 
evening  a  dashing  young  captain  of  the  general 
staff.  My  fingers  strayed  toward  my  pocket 
and  my  own  revolver.  Then  I  pried  them 
away,  temporarily,  and  took  a  provisional  seat. 

"That 's  sensible,"  Franz  von  Blenheim  ap- 
proved me  blandly.  "Now,  Miss  Falconer, 
you  know  what  I  'm  here  for,  is  n't  that 
so?  Just  hand  me  those  papers  and  you  '11  be 
as  free  as  air.  I'll  take  myself  off;  you'll 
never  see  me  again  probably.  That 's  a  fair 
bargain,  is  n't  it?     What  do  you  say?" 

I  was  sitting  close  to  the  girl,  so  close  that 
her  soft  furs  brushed  me  and  I  could  feel  the 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       257 

flutter  of  her  breath  against  my  cheek.  At 
Blenheim's  proposition  I  glanced  at  her.  She 
was  measuring  him  steadily.  Then  she  looked 
at  me,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  hold  some  mes- 
sage that  I  could  not  read. 

*Terhaps,  Miss  Falconer,"  I  interposed, 
"you  have  not  quite  grasped  the  situation."  I 
was  sparring  for  time;  she  wanted  to  convey 
something  to  me,  I  was  sure.  "It  is  rather 
complicated.  This  gentleman  has  turned  out 
to  be  a  well-known  agent  of  the  kaiser.  He 
was  traveling  on  the  Be  d'ltalia,  I  gather,  on 
a  forged  passport,  and  had  helped  himself  to 
my  baggage  as  the  most  convenient  way  of 
smuggling  some  papers  to  the  other  side." 

He  grinned  assentingly. 

"You  owe  me  one  for  that,"  he  owned. 
"You  see,  it  was  my  second  trip  on  that  line, 
and  I  thought  they  might  have  me  spotted ;  I 
had  a  lot  of  things  to  carry  home, — reports,  in- 
formation, confidential  letters,  and  I  concluded 
they  would  be  safer  with  a  nice,  innocent  young 
man  like  you.  It  did  n't  work,  as  things  went. 
It  was  just  a  little  too  clever.     But  if  you 


258    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

had  n't  mixed  yourself  up  with  this  young  lady, 
and  tossed  packages  overboard  for  her  under 
the  noses  of  the  stewards,  and  got  yourself  sus- 
pected and  your  baggage  searched,  I  should 
have  turned  the  trick  I" 

His  share  in  the  tangled  episode  on  board 
the  steamer  was  unfolding.  I  understood 
now  why  he  had  sprung  to  my  rescue  in  the 
salon  when  I  was  accused.  Naturally  he  had 
not  wanted  my  traps  searched,  considering 
what  was  in  them, 

"As  you  say,  you  were  a  little  too  clever," 
I  agreed. 

His  eyes  glinted  viciously. 

"Well,  it 's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk," 
he  retorted;  "and  besides,  the  papers  you  are 
going  to  hand  me  to-night  will  even  up  the 
score.  It  was  a  piece  of  luck,  my  running 
across  Miss  Falconer  on  the  liner.  Of  course 
the  minute  I  heard  her  name  I  knew  what  she 
was  crossing  for."  The  dickens  he  did!  "All 
I  had  to  do  was  to  follow  her,  and  by  the  time 
we  reached  Bleau  I  had  guessed  enough  to 
come  ahead   of  her.    But   I  '11   admit,   Mr. 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       259 

Bayne,  now  it 's  aU  over,  it  made  me  nervous  to 
have  you  popping  up  at  every  turn!  I  began 
to  think  that  you  suspected  me — that  you  were 
traihng  me.  If  you  had,  you  know,  I 
should  n't  have  stood  a  chance  on  earth.  You 
could  have  said  a  word  to  the  first  gendarme 
you  met  and  had  me  laid  by  the  heels  and  ended 
it.  That  was  why  I  kept  warning  you  off. 
But  I  need  n't  have  worried.  You  drank  in 
everything  I  told  you  as  innocent  as  a  babel" 
If  he  wanted  revenge  for  my  last  remark, 
he  had  it.  I  looked  at  the  girl  beside  me,  so 
watchfully  composed  and  fearless,  then  at  the 
fixed,  terrified  glare  of  the  motionless  Marie- 
Jeanne.  With  a  little  rudimentary  intelli- 
gence on  my  part  this  situation  would  have 
been  spared  us. 

"Yes,"  I  acknowledged  bitterly;  "I  did." 
"Except  for  that,"  he  grinned,  "it  went  like 
clockwork.  There  wasn't  even  enough  dan- 
ger in  the  thing  to  give  it  spice.  Do  you  know, 
there  is  n't  a  capital  in  Europe  where  I  can't 
get  disguises,  money,  passports  within  twelve 
hours  if  I  want  them.    Oh,  you  have  a  lot  to 


260    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

learn  about  us,  you  people  on  the  other  side! 
I  Ve  crossed  the  ocean  four  times  since  the 
war  started ;  I  've  been  in  London,  Rome, 
Paris,  Petrograd — pretty  much  everywhere. 
I  'm  getting  homesick,  though.  The  laissez- 
passer  I  Ve  picked  up,  or  forged,  no  matter 
which,  takes  me  straight  through  to  the  Front; 
and  I  've  got  friends  even  in  the  trenches. 
Before  the  Frenchies  know  it  I  '11  be  across  no- 
man's-land  and  inside  the  German  lines!" 

For  a  moment,  as  I  listened,  I  was  danger- 
ously near  admiring  him.  He  was  certainly 
exaggerating;  but  it  couldn't  all  be  brag. 
The  life  of  this  spy  of  the  first  water,  of  in- 
ternational fame,  must  be  rather  marvelous; 
to  defy  one's  enemies  with  success,  to  journey 
calmly  through  their  capitals,  to  stroll  unde- 
tected among  their  agents  of  justice — were 
not  things  any  fool  could  do.  He  carried  his 
life  in  his  hand,  this  Franz  von  Blenheim.  He 
had  courage ;  he  even  had  genius  along  his  spe- 
cial lines.  His  impersonation  on  the  liner, 
shrewd,  slang}%  coarse-grained,  patronizing, 
had  been  a  triumph.     Then,  suddenly,  I  re- 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       261 

menibered  a  murdered  boy  beside  whom  I  had 
knelt  that  morning,  and  my  brief  flicker  of 
homage  died. 

"You  think  I  can't  do  it,  eh?"  He  had 
misinterpreted  my  expression.  "Well,  let  me 
tell  you  I  did  just  a  year  ago  and  got  over 
without  a  scratch.  To  get  across  no-man's- 
land  you  have  to  play  dead,  as  you  Yankees 
put  it ;  you  lie  flat  on  the  ground  and  pull  your- 
self forward  a  foot  at  a  time  and  keep  your  eye 
on  the  search-lights  so  that  when  they  come 
your  way  you  can  drop  on  your  face  and  lie 
like  a  corpse  until  they  move  on.  It's  not 
pleasant,  of  course;  but  in  this  game  we  take 
our  chances.  And  now  I  think  I  '11  be  claim- 
ing my  winnings  if  you  please." 

I  straightened  in  my  chair,  recognizing  a 
crisis.  With  his  last  phrase  he  had  shed  the 
bearing  of  Mr.  John  Van  Blarcom,  and  from 
the  disguise  all  in  an  instant  there  emerged 
the  Prussian,  insolent,  overbearing,  fixing  us 
with  a  look  of  challenge,  and  addressing  us 
with  crisp  command.  No;  the  kaiser's  agent 
was  not  a  figure  of  romance  or  of  adventure. 


262    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

He  was  a  force  as  able,  as  ruthless,  as  cruel  as 
the  land  he  served. 

"Miss  Falconer,"  he  demanded  briefly, 
"where  are  those  papers?  I  am  not  to  be 
played  with,  I  assure  you.  If  you  think  I  am, 
just  recall  this  morning,  and  your  chauffeur. 
We  did  n't  kill  him  for  the  pleasure  of  it ;  he 
had  his  chance  as  you  have.  But  when  we  went 
for  our  car  he  was  there  in  the  garage,  sleep- 
ing; he  seemed  to  think  we  had  designs  on  him, 
and  tried  to  rouse  the  inn." 

"Do  you  call  that  an  excuse  for  a  murder?" 
I  exclaimed.     "You  cold-blooded  villain!" 

"I  don't  make  excuses."  His  voice  was  hard 
and  arrogant.  "I  am  calling  the  matter  to 
your  notice  as  a  kind  warning,  Mr.  Bayne. 
You  said  a  little  while  ago  that  to  see  a  woman 
gagged  and  bound  distressed  you.  Well,  un- 
less I  have  those  papers  within  five  minutes, 
you  will  see  something  worse  than  that!" 

At  the  moment  what  I  saw  was  red.  There 
was  something  beating  in  my  throat,  choking 
me;  I  knew  neither  myself  nor  the  primitive 
impulses  I  felt. 


HERR  VON  BLENHEIM       263 

"If  you  lay  a  finger  on  Miss  Falconer,"  I 
heard  myself  saying  slowly,  "I  swear  I  '11  kill 
you;' 

Then  through  the  crimson  mist  that  en- 
veloped me  I  saw  Blenheim  laugh. 

"Come,  Mr.  Bayne,"  he  taunted  me,  "re- 
member our  friend  Schwartzmann.  This  is 
your  business,  Miss  Falconer,  I  take  it.  What 
are  you  going  to  do?" 

The  girl  flung  her  head  back,  and  her  eyes 
blazed  as  she  answered  him. 

"You  can  torture  me,"  she  said  scornfully. 
"You  can  kill  me.  But  I  will  never  give  you 
the  papers;  you  may  be  sure  of  that." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN   THE  DAKK 

1  THOUGHT  of  a  number  of  things  in 
the  ensuing  thirty  seconds,  but  they  all 
narrowed  down  swiftly  to  a  mere  thankfulness 
that  I  had  been  born.  Suppose  I  had  n't ;  or 
suppose  I  had  not  happened  to  stop  at  the  St. 
Ives  Hotel  and  sail  on  the  Re  d'ltalia;  or  that 
I  had  remained  in  Rome  with  Jack  Herriott 
instead  of  hurrying  on  to  Paris ;  or  had  let  my 
quest  of  the  girl  end  in  the  rue  St.-Dominique 
instead  of  trailing  her  to  Bleau.  If  one  of 
these  links  had  been  omitted,  the  chain  of  cir- 
cumstance would  have  been  broken,  and  Miss 
Falconer  would  have  sat  here  confronting  these 
four  men  alone. 

It  was  extremely  hard  for  me  to  believe  that 
the  scene  was  genuine.  The  dark  hall,  the 
one  wavering,  flickering  candle  lighting  only 
the  immediate  area  of  our  conference,  the 

264 


IN  THE  DARK  265 

bound  woman  in  the  chair,  the  watchful  atti- 
tude of  our  captors,  Mr.  Schwartzmann's 
ready  weapon — all  were  the  sort  of  thing  that 
does  not  happen  to  people  in  our  prosaic  day 
and  age.  It  was  like  an  old-time  romantic 
drama ;  I  felt  inadequate,  cast  for  the  hero.  I 
might  have  been  Fran9ois  Villon,  or  some  such 
Sothern-like  incarnation,  for  all  the  civihzed 
resources  that  I  could  summon.  There  were 
no  bells  here  to  be  rung  for  servants,  no  tele- 
phones to  be  utilized,  no  police  station  round 
the  corner  from  which  to  commandeer  prompt 
aid. 

The  most  alarming  feature  of  the  affair, 
however,  was  the  manner  of  Franz  von  Blen- 
heim, which  was  not  so  much  melodramatic  as 
businesslike  and  hard.  At  Miss  Falconer's 
defiance  he  looked  her  up  and  down  quite 
coolly.  Then,  turning  in  his  seat,  he  began 
giving  orders  to  his  men. 

"Schwartzmann,"  ran  the  first  of  these,  "I 
want  you  to  watch  this  gentleman.  He  will 
probably  make  some  movement  presently;  if 
fae  does,  you  are  to  fire,  and  not  to  miss.    And 


266    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

you" — he  turned  to  the  men  by  the  door — 
"pile  some  wood  in  the  chimney-place  and  light 
it.  There  are  some  sticks  over  yonder, — but 
if  you  don't  find  enough,  break  up  a  chair. 
Then  when  you  get  a  good  blaze,  heat  me  one 
of  the  fire-irons.  Heat  it  red-hot.  And  be 
quick !  .  We  are  wasting  time !" 

The  color  was  leaving  the  girl's  cheeks,  but 
she  sat  even  straighter,  prouder.  As  for  me, 
for  one  instant  I  experienced  a  blessed  relief. 
I  had  been  right;  it  was  all  impossible.  One 
did  n't  talk  seriously  of  red-hot  irons. 

"You  must  think  you  are  King  John,"  I 
laughed.  "But  you  're  overplaying.  Don't 
worry.  Miss  Falconer;  he  won't  touch  you. 
There  are  things  that  men  don't  do." 

He  looked  at  me,  not  angrily,  not  in  resent- 
ment, but  in  pure  contempt;  and  I  remem- 
bered. There  were  people,  hundreds  of  them, 
in  the  burning  villages  of  Belgium,  in  the  rav- 
aged lands  of  northern  France,  who  had  once 
felt  the  same  assurance  that  certain  things 
couldn't  be  done  and  had  learned  that  they 
could.     I  glanced  at  the  men  who  were  piling 


IN  THE  DARK  267 

wood  on  the  hearth,  at  their  sullen  blue  eyes, 
their  air  of  rather  stupid  arrogance.  I  had 
walked,  it  seemed,  into  a  nightmare ;  but  then, 
so  had  the  world. 

"This  is  n't  a  tea  party,  Mr.  Bayne,"  said 
Franz  von  Blenheim.  "It  is  war.  Those 
papers  belong  to  my  government  and  they  are 
going  back.  I  shall  stop  at  nothing,  nothing 
on  earth,  to  get  them ;  so  if  you  have  any  in- 
fluence with  this  young  lady,  you  had  better 
use  it  now." 

"I  am  not  afraid."  The  girl's  voice  was 
unshaken,  bless  her.  "I  said  you  could  kill 
me — and  I  meant  it.     But  I  will  not  tell." 

"And  I  will  not  kill  you.  Miss  Falconer." 
The  German's  tones  were  level,  and  his  eyes, 
as  they  dwelt  steadily  on  her,  were  as  hard  and 
cold  as  steel.  "I  don't  want  you  dead ;  I  want 
you  living,  with  a  tongue  and  using  it;  and  you 
will  use  it.  You  talk  bravely,  but  you  have  no 
conception — how  should  you  have? — of  physi- 
cal pain.  When  that  iron  is  red-hot,  if  you 
have  not  spoken,  I  shall  hold  it  to  your  arm 
and  press  it — " 


268    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Damn  you!"  The  cry  was  wrenched  out 
of  me.     "Not  while  I  am  here!" 

"You  will  be  here,  Mr.  Bayne,  just  so  long 
as  it  suits  me."  A  sort  of  cold  ferocity  was 
growing  in  Blenheim's  tones.  "And  you  have 
yourself  to  thank  for  your  position,  let  me 
remind  you;  you  would  thrust  yourself  in. 
I  don't  know  what  you  are  doing  in  the  busi- 
ness— a  ridiculous  mountebank  in  a  leather  cap 
and  coat  I  It 's  a  way  you  Yankees  have,  med- 
dling in  things  that  don't  concern  you.  You 
seem  to  think  that  you  have  special  rights  un- 
der Providence,  that  you  own  everything  in  the 
universe,  even  to  the  high  seas.  Well,  we  '11 
settle  with  your  country  for  its  munitions  and 
its  notes  and  its  driveling  talk  about  atrocities 
a  little  later,  when  we  have  finished  up  the 
Allies.  And  I  '11  deal  with  you  to-night  if 
you  dare  to  lift  a  hand." 

There  seemed  only  one  answer  possible,  and 
my  muscles  were  stiffening  for  it  when  sud- 
denly Miss  Falconer's  handkerchief,  a  mere 
wisp  of  linen  which  she  had  been  clenching  be- 
tween her  fingers,  dropped  to  the  floor.     With 


IN  THE  DARK  269 

a  purely  automatic  movement  I  bent  to  re- 
cover it  for  her;  she  leaned  down  to  receive  it. 
Her  pale  face  and  lovely  dilated  eyes  were  close 
to  me  for  a  fleeting  second,  and  though  her  lips 
did  not  move,  I  seemed  to  catch  the  merest 
breath,  the  faintest  gossamer  whisper  that  said : 

"The  stairs!" 

Blenheim's  gaze,  full  of  suspicion,  was  upon 
us  as  we  straightened,  but  he  could  not  possi- 
bly have  heard  anything;  I  had  barely  heard 
myself.  I  racked  my  brains.  The  stairs! 
But  the  man  Schwartzmann  was  guarding 
them  with  his  revolver.  I  couldn't  imagine 
what  she  meant;  and  then  suddenly  I  knew. 

Throughout  the  entire  scene,  whenever  I 
had  glanced  at  her,  I  had  noticed  the  steady 
way  in  which  her  look  met  mine  and  then 
turned  aside.  It  had  seemed  almost  like  a  sig- 
nal or  a  message  she  was  trying  to  give  me. 
And  which  way  had  her  eyes  always  gone? 
Why,  down  the  hall! 

I  looked  in  that  direction  and  felt  my  heart 
leap  up  exultantly.  Perhaps  twenty  feet  from 
us,  just  where  the  radius  of  the  candle-light 


270    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

merged  off  into  the  darkness,  I  glimpsed  what 
seemed  the  merest  ghost  of  a  circular  stone 
staircase,  carved  and  sculptured  cunningly, 
like  lacy  foam.  Up  into  the  dusk  it  wound,  to 
the  gallery,  and  to  a  door.  Behold  our  objec- 
tive! I  wasted  no  precious  time  in  pondering 
the  whys  and  the  wherefores.  At  any  rate, 
once  inside  with  the  bolts  shot  we  could  count 
on  a  breathing-space. 

I  cast  a  final  glance  at  Blenheim  where  he 
lolled  across  the  table,  and  at  the  shadowy 
menacing  figure  of  the  armed  sentinel  on  the 
stairs.  The  men  at  the  hearth  had  piled  their 
wood  and  were  bending  forward  to  light  it. 

"Be  ready,  please!"  I  said  to  the  girl,  aloud. 

As  I  spoke  I  bent  forward,  seized  the  table 
by  its  legs,  and  raised  it,  and  concentrated  all 
the  wrath,  resentment  and  detestation  that  had 
boiled  in  me  for  half  an  hour  into  the  force 
with  which  I  dashed  it  forward  against  Blen- 
heim's face.  He  grunted  profoundly  as  it 
struck  him.  Toppling  over  with  a  crash,  he 
rolled  upon  the  floor.     The  candle,  falling,  ex- 


IN  THE  DARK  271 

tinguished  itself  promptly,  and  we  were  left 
standing  in  a  hall  as  black  as  ink. 

Simultaneously  with  the  blow  I  had  struck 
there  came  a  spit  of  flame  from  the  staircase, 
a  sharp  crack,  and  as  I  ducked  hastily  a  bullet 
spurted  past  me,  within  three  inches  of  my 
head.  Miss  Falconer  was  beside  me.  To- 
gether we  retreated,  while  a  second  shot,  which 
this  time  went  wide,  struck  the  wall  beyond 
us  and  proved  that  Schwartzmann,  though 
handicapped,  was  not  giving  up  the  fight. 

So  far  things  had  gone  better  than  I  had 
dared  to  think  was  possible.  Now,  however, 
they  took  a  sudden  and  most  unwelcome  turn. 
One  of  the  men  by  the  chimney-place  must 
have  wasted  no  time  in  leaping  for  me;  for  at 
this  instant,  quite  without  warning,  he  cata- 
pulted on  me  through  the  darkness  with  the 
force  of  a  battering-ram. 

The  table,  which  I  still  held  clutched  with 
a  view  to  emergencies,  broke  the  force  of  his 
onslaught.  He  reeled,  stumbled,  and  col- 
lapsed on  his  knees.     However,  he  was  lack- 


272    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

ing  neither  in  Teutonic  efficiency  nor  in  re- 
source. Putting  out  a  prompt  hand,  he  seized 
my  ankle  and  jerked  my  foot  from  under  me; 
the  table  dropped  from  my  grasp  with  a  splin- 
tering uproar,  and  I  fell. 

Before  I  could  recover  myself  my  enemy  had 
rolled  on  top  of  me,  and  I  felt  his  fingers  at  my 
throat  as  he  clamored  in  German  for  a  light. 
He  was  a  heavy  man;  his  bulk  was  paralyzing; 
but  I  stiffened  every  muscle.  With  a  mighty 
heave  I  turned  half  over,  rose  on  my  elbow,  and 
delivered  a  blow  at  what,  I  fondly  hoped, 
might  prove  the  point  of  his  chin. 

Dark  as  it  was,  I  had  made  no  miscalcula- 
tion. He  dropped  on  me  once  again,  but  this 
time  as  an  inert  mass.  Burrowing  out  from 
under  him,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  aglow  with 
triumph — and  found  myself  in  the  clutch  of 
the  second  gentleman  from  the  chimney-place, 
who  apparently  had  come  hotfoot  to  his  com- 
rade's aid. 

I  was  fairly  caught.  His  arms  went  round 
me  like  steel  girders,  pinioning  mine  to  my 


IN  THE  DARK  273 

sides  before  I  knew  what  he  was  about.  In 
sheer  desperation  I  summoned  all  the  strength 
I  possessed  and  a  little  more.  Ah!  I  had 
wrenched  my  right  arm  loose;  now  we  should 
see  I  I  raised  it  and  managed,  despite  the  close 
quarters  at  which  we  were  contending,  to  plant 
a  series  of  crashing  blows  on  my  adversary's 
face. 

The  fellow,  I  must  say,  bore  up  pluckily 
beneath  the  punishment.  He  hung  on. 
There  would  be  a  light  in  a  moment,  he  was 
doubtless  thinking,  and  when  once  that  came 
to  pass,  it  would  be  all  over  with  me.  But  at 
my  fifth  blow  he  wavered  groggily,  and  at 
my  sixth,  endurance  failed  him.  He  groaned 
softly.  Then  his  grasp  relaxed,  and  he  col- 
lapsed quietly  on  the  floor. 

Throughout  the  swift  march  of  these  events 
we  had  heard  nothing  of  Herr  von  Blenheim,  a 
fact  from  which  I  deduced  with  thankfulness 
that  he  was  temporarily  stunned.  Unluckily, 
he  now  recovered.  As  I  stood  victorious,  but 
breathless,  my  cap  lost  in  the  scuffle  and  my 


274    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

coat  torn,  I  heard  him  stirring,  and  an  in- 
stant later  he  pulled  himself  to  his  feet  and 
flashed  on  an  electric  torch. 

By  its  weird  beam  I  saw  that  Miss  Falconer 
was  close  beside  me.  Good  heavens!  Why, 
I  thought  in  anguish,  wasn't  she  already  up- 
stairs? But  I  knew  only  too  well;  she 
would  n't  desert  her  champion.  It  was  prob- 
ably too  late  now.  Blenheim,  much  congested 
as  to  countenance,  seemed  on  the  point  of 
springing;  his  battered  aids  were  struggling 
up  in  menacing,  if  unsteady,  fashion;  and  Mr. 
Schwartzmann,  at  length  provided  with  the 
light  he  wanted,  was  aiming  at  me  with 
ominous  deliberation  from  his  coign  of  vantage 
above. 

However,  we  were  at  the  circular  staircase. 
Again  I  caught  up  the  table  and  held  it  before 
us  as  a  shield  while  we  climbed  upward,  side 
by  side.  In  the  distance  my  friend  Schwartz- 
mann was  hopefully  potting  at  us.  A  bullet, 
with  a  sharp  ping,  embedded  itself  in  the  thick 
wood  in  harmless  fashion;  another  struck  the 
shaft  beside  me,  splintering  its  stone.    We 


IN  THE  DARK  275 

were  at  the  last  turn — but  our  pursuers  were 
climbing  also.  I  bent  forward  and  let  them 
have  the  table,  hurling  it  with  all  possible 
force. 

As  it  catapulted  down  upon  them  it  knocked 
Blenheim  off  his  balance,  and  he  in  his  un- 
foreseen descent  swept  the  others  from  their 
feet.  A  swearing,  groaning  mass,  a  conglom- 
eration of  helplessly  waving  arms  and  legs, 
they  rolled  downward.  Victory !  I  was  about 
to  join  Miss  Falconer  in  the  doorway  when 
there  came  a  final  flash  from  the  opposite  stair- 
case, and  I  felt  a  stinging  sensation  across  my 
forehead  and  a  spurt  of  blood  into  my  eyes. 

The  pain  of  the  slight  wound  promptly  al- 
tered my  intentions.  Instead  of  leaving  the 
gallery,  I  sprang  forward  to  the  balustrade. 
Whipping  my  revolver  out  at  last,  I  aimed  de- 
liberately and  fired ;  whereupon  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  Mr.  Schwartzmann  rock,  strug- 
gle, apparently  regain  his  equilibrium,  and  then 
suddenly  crumple  up  and  pitch  headlong  down 
the  stairs. 

Below,  Blenheim  and  his  friend  were  ex- 


276    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

tricating  themselves  from  that  blessed  table. 
I  passed  through  the  door  and  thrust  it  shut 
and  shot  the  bolts.  We  were  safe  for  the 
present.  I  could  not  see  Miss  Falconer,  nor 
did  she  speak  to  me;  but  her  hand  groped  for 
my  arm  and  rested  there,  and  I  covered  it  with 
one  of  mine. 

Then,  as  we  stood  contentedly  drawing 
breath,  we  heard  steps  mounting  the  staircase. 
Some  one  struck  a  vicious  blow  against  the 
heavy  door.  Blenheim's  voice,  hoarse  and 
muffled,  reached  us  through  the  panels. 

*'Can  you  hear  me  there?"  it  asked. 

If  tones  could  kill!  I  summoned  breath 
enough  to  answer  with  cheerful  coolness. 

"Every  syllable,"  I  responded.  "What  did 
you  wish  to  say?" 

"Just  this."  He  was  panting,  either  with 
exhaustion  or  fury,  and  there  were  slow, 
labored  pauses  between  his  words.  "I  will 
give  you  half  an  hour,  exactly,  to  come  out 
— with  the  papers.  After  that  we  will  break 
the  door  down.  And  then  you  can  say  your 
prayers." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  GUEST  OF   PEEZELAY 

THE  sanctuary  into  which  we  had  stumbled 
was  as  black  as  Erebus  save  for  one  dimly- 
grayish  patch,  which,  I  surmised,  meant  a  win- 
dow. When  those  heavy  feet  had  clumped 
down  the  staircase,  silence  enveloped  us  again, 
beatific  silence.  Instantly  I  banished  the  late 
Mr.  Van  Blarcom  from  my  consciousness. 
With  a  good  stout  door  between  us  what  im- 
portance had  his  threats? 

The  truth  was  that  my  blood  was  singing 
through  my  veins  and  my  spirits  were  soaring. 
I  would  gladly  have  stood  there  forever, 
triumphant  in  the  dark,  with  Miss  Falconer's 
soft,  warm  fingers  trembling  a  little,  but  lying 
in  contented,  almost  cosy,  fashion  under  mine. 
Had  there  ever  been  such  a  girl,  at  once  so 
sweet  and  so  daring?    To  think  how  she  had 

277 


278    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

waited  for  me  all  through  that  battle  below! 

A  little  breathless  murmur  came  to  me 
through  the  darkness. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bayne!  You  were  so  wonderful  I 
How  am  I  ever  going  to  thank  you?"  was 
what  it  said. 

"You  need  n't.  Let  me  thank  you  for  let- 
ting me  in  on  it!"  I  exulted  happily.  "I  give 
you  my  word,  I  have  n't  enjoyed  anything  so 
much  in  years.  It  was  all  a  hallucination,  of 
course;  but  it  was  jolly  while  it  lasted.  I  was 
only  worried  every  instant  for  fear  the  hall  and 
the  men  would  vanish,  like  an  Arabian  Nights' 
palace  or  the  Great  Horn  Spoon  or  Aladdin's 
jinn!" 

Very  gently  she  withdrew  her  fingers,  and 
my  mood  toppled  ludicrously.  Why  had  I 
been  rejoicing?  We  were  in  the  deuce  of  a 
mess !  So  far  I  had  simply  won  a  half  hour's 
respite  to  be  followed  by  the  deluge;  for  if 
Blenheim  had  been  ruthless  before,  what  were 
his  probable  intentions  now? 

"We  have  lost  our  candle  in  the  fracas,"  I 
muttered  lamely. 


THE  GUEST  OF  PREZELAY    279 

"It  doesn't  matter.  I  have  another,"  she 
answered  in  a  soft,  unsteady  voice. 

As  she  coaxed  the  light  into  being,  I  made  a 
rapid  survey.  We  were  in  a  room  of  gray 
stone,  of  no  great  size  and  quite  bare  of  furnish- 
ing, save  for  a  few  stone  benches  built  into 
alcoves  in  the  wall.  The  bareness  of  the  scene 
emphasized  our  lack  of  resources.  As  a  sole 
ray  of  hope,  I  perceived  a  possible  hne  of  re- 
treat if  things  should  grow  too  warm  for  us, 
a  door  facing  the  one  by  which  we  had  come 
in. 

With  all  the  excitement,  I  had  forgotten 
Mr.  Schwartzmann's  bullet,  which,  I  have  no 
doubt,  had  left  me  a  gory  spectacle.  At  any 
rate,  I  frightened  Miss  Falconer  when  the 
candle-light  revealed  me.  In  an  instant  she 
was  bending  over  me,  forcing  me  gently  down 
upon  a  particularly  cold,  hard  bench. 

"They  shot  you!"  she  was  exclaiming.  Her 
voice  was  low,  but  it  held  an  astonishing  pro- 
tective fierceness.  "They — they  dared  to  hurt 
you  I  Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?  Is  it 
very  bad?" 


280    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"No!  nol"  I  protested,  dabbing  futilely  at 
my  forehead.  "It  isn't  of  the  least  impor- 
tance. I  assure  you  it  is  only  a  scratch.  In 
fact,"  I  groaned,  "nobody  could  hurt  my  head; 
it  is  too  solid.  It  must  be  ivory.  If  I  had 
had  a  vestige  of  intelligence,  an  iota  of  it,  the 
palest  glimmer,  I  should  have  known  from  the 
beginning  exactly  who  these  fellows  were!" 

She  was  sitting  beside  me  now,  bending  for- 
ward, all  consoling  eagerness. 

"That  is  ridiculous!"  she  declared.  "How 
could  you  guess  ?" 

"Easily  enough,"  I  mourned.  "I  had  all  the 
clues  at  Gibraltar.  Why,  yesterday,  on  my 
way  to  your  house  in  the  rue  St.-Dominique,  I 
went  over  the  whole  case  in  the  taxi,  and  still 
I  did  n't  see.  I  let  the  fellow  confide  in  me 
on  the  ship  and  warn  me  on  the  train  and  give 
me  a  final  solemn  ultimatum  at  the  inn  last 
night  and  come  on  here  to  frighten  you  and 
threaten  you — when  just  a  word  to  the  police 
would  have  settled  him  forever.  By  George, 
I  can't  believe  it !  I  should  take  a  prize  at  an 
idiot  show." 


THE  GUEST  OF  PREZELAY    281 

She  laughed  unsteadily. 

*'I  don't  see  that,"  she  answered.  *'Why 
should  you  have  suspected  him  when  even  the 
authorities  didn't  guess?  You  are  not  a  de- 
tective. You  are  a — a  very  brave,  generous 
gentleman,  who  trusted  a  girl  against  all  the 
evidence  and  helped  her  and  protected  her  and 
risked  your  life  for  hers.  Is  n't  that  enough? 
And  about  their  frightening  me  down-stairs 
— they  didn't.  You  see,  Mr.  Bayne — you 
were  there." 

A  wisp  of  red-brown  hair  had  come  loose 
across  her  forehead.  Her  face,  flushed  and 
royally  grateful,  was  smiling  into  mine.  Till 
that  moment  I  had  never  dreamed  that  eyes 
could  be  so  dazzling.  I  thrust  my  hands 
deep  into  my  pockets;  I  felt  they  were  safer 
so. 

"What  is  it?"  she  faltered,  a  little  startled, 
as  I  rose. 

"Nothing— now,"  I  replied  firmly.  "I'll 
tell  you  later,  to-morrow,  maybe,  when  we  have 
seen  this  thing  through.  And  in  the  mean- 
time, whatever  happens,  I  don't  want  you  to 


282    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

give  a  thought  to  it.  The  German  doesn't 
live  who  can  get  the  better  of  me — not  after 
what  you  have  said." 

The  situation  suddenly  presented  itself  in 
rosy  colors.  I  saw  how  strong  the  door  was, 
what  a  lot  of  breaking  it  would  take.  And  if 
they  did  force  a  way  in,  then  I  could  try  some 
sharp-shooting.  But  Miss  Falconer  was  get- 
ting up  slowly. 

"Now  the  papers,  Mr.  Bayne,"  said  she. 

To  be  sure,  the  papers!  I  had  temporarily 
forgotten  them. 

"They  can't  be  here,"  I  said  blankly,  gazing 
about  the  room. 

"No,  not  here.  In  there."  She  motioned 
toward  the  inner  door.  "This  is  the  old  suite 
of  the  lords  of  Prezelay.  We  are  in  the  room 
of  the  guards,  where  the  armed  retainers  used 
to  lie  all  night  before  the  fire,  watching.  Then 
comes  the  antechamber  and  then  the  room  of 
the  squires  and  then  the  bedchamber  of  the 
lord."  Her  voice  had  fallen  now  as  if  she 
thought  that  the  walls  were  listening.  "In 
the  lord's  room  there  is  a  secret  hiding-place 


THE  GUEST  OF  PREZELAY    283 

behind  a  panel;  and  if  the  papers  are  at  Pre- 
zelay,  they  will  be  there." 

I  took  the  candle  from  her,  turned  to  the 
door,  and  opened  it. 

"I  hope  they  are,"  I  said.  "Let  us  go  and 
see." 

The  antechamber,  the  room  of  the  squires, 
the  bedchamber  of  the  lord.  Such  terms  were 
fascinating;  they  called  up  before  me  a  whole 
picture  of  feudal  life.  Thanks  to  the  atten- 
tions of  the  Germans,  the  rooms  were  mere 
empty  shells,  however,  though  they  must  have 
been  rather  splendid  when  decked  out  with 
furniture  and  portraits  and  tapestries  before 
the  war. 

Our  steps  echoed  on  the  stone  as  we  traversed 
the  antechamber,  a  quaint  round  place,  lined 
with  bull's-eye  windows  and  presided  over  by 
the  statues  of  four  armed  men.  Another  door 
gave  us  entrance  to  the  quarter  of  the  squires. 
We  started  across  it,  but  in  the  center  of  the 
floor  I  stopped.  In  all  the  other  rooms  of  the 
castle  dust  had  lain  thick,  but  there  was  none 
here.     Elsewhere  the  windows  had  been  closed 


284    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

and  the  air  heavy  and  musty,  but  here  the  soft 
night  breeze  was  drifting  in.  On  a  table,  in 
odd  conjunction,  stood  the  remains  of  a  meal, 
a  roll  of  bandages,  and  a  half -burned  candle; 
and  finally,  against  the  wall  lay  a  bed  of  a 
sort,  a  mattress  piled  with  tumbled  sheets. 

Were  these  Marie- Jeanne's  quarters?  I  did 
not  know,  but  I  doubted.  I  turned  to  the 
girl. 

"Miss  Falconer,"  I  said,  attempting  natural- 
ness, "will  you  go  back  to  the  guard-room  and 
wait  there  a  few  minutes,  please?  I  think — 
that  is,  it  seems  just  possible  that  some  one 
is  hiding  in  yonder.  I  'd  prefer  to  investigate 
alone  if  you  don't  mind." 

I  broke  off,  suddenly  aware  of  the  look  she 
was  casting  round  her.  It  did  not  mean  fear ; 
it  could  mean  nothing  but  an  incredulous, 
dawning  hope.  These  signs  of  occupancy  sug- 
gested to  her  something  so  wonderful,  so  de- 
sirable that  she  simply  dared  not  credit  them; 
she  was  dreading  that  they  might  slip  through 
her  fingers  and  fade  away!  I  made  a  valiant 
effort  at  understanding. 


THE  GUEST  OF  PREZELAY    285 

"Perhaps,"  I  said,  "you  're  expecting  some 
one.  Did  you  think  that  a — a  friend  of  yours 
might  have  arrived  here  before  we  came?" 
She  did  not  glance  at  me,  but  she  bent  her  head, 
assenting.  All  her  attention  was  focused 
raptly  on  that  bed  beside  the  wall. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered;  "a  long  time  before 
us.  A  month  ago  at  least."  Her  eyes  had 
begun  to  shine.  "Oh,  I  don't  dare  to  believe 
it ;  I  've  hardly  dared  to  hope  for  it.  But  if 
it  is  true,  I  am  going  to  be  happier  than  I 
ever  thought  I  could  be  again." 

She  made  a  swift  movement  toward  the 
door,  but  I  forestalled  her.  Whatever  that 
room  held,  I  must  have  a  look  at  it  before  she 
went.  I  flung  the  door  open,  blocked  her  pass- 
age, and  stopped  in  my  tracks,  for  the  best  of 
reasons.  A  young  man  was  sitting  on  a  bat- 
tered oak  chest  beneath  a  window,  facing  me, 
and  in  his  right  hand,  propped  on  his  knees, 
there  glittered  a  revolver  that  was  pointed 
straight  at  my  heart. 

I  stood  petrified,  measuring  him.  He  was 
lightly  built  and  slender.     He  had  a  manner 


286    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

as  glittering  as  his  weapon,  and  a  pair  of  re- 
markably cool  and  clear  gray  eyes.  His  pic- 
turesqueness  seemed  wasted  on  mere  flesh  and 
blood,  it  was  so  perfect.  Coatless,  but  wearing 
a  shirt  of  the  finest  linen,  he  looked  like  some 
old  French  duelist  and  ought,  I  felt,  to  be 
gazing  at  me,  rapier  in  hand,  from  a  gilt- 
framed  canvas  on  the  wall. 

In  the  brief  pause  before  he  spoke  I  gath- 
ered some  further  data.  He  was  a  sick  man 
and  he  had  recently  been  wounded ;  at  present 
he  was  keeping  up  by  sheer  courage,  not  by 
strength.  His  lips  were  pressed  in  a  straight 
line,  his  eyes  were  shadowed,  and  his  pallor 
was  ghastly.  Finally,  he  was  wearing  his  left 
arm  in  a  sling  across  his  breast. 

"Monsieur,"  he  now  enunciated  clearly, 
"will  raise  both  hands  and  keep  them  lifted. 
Monsieur  sees,  doubtless,  that  I  am  in  no  state 
for  a  wrestling-match.  For  that  very  reason 
he  must  take  all  pains  not  to  forget  himself — 
for  should  he  stir,  however  slightly,  I  grieve 
to  say  that  I  must  shoot." 

The  casualness  of  his  tones  made  Blenheim's 


THE  GUEST  OF  PREZELAY    287 

menaces  seem  childish  and  futile.  I  had  not 
the  slightest  doubt  that  he  would  keep  his 
word.  Yet,  without  any  reason  whatever,  I 
liked  him  and  I  had  no  fear  of  him ;  I  did  not 
feel  for  a  single  instant  that  Miss  Falconer 
was  in  danger;  she  was  as  safe  with  him,  I 
knew  instinctively,  as  she  was  with  me. 

I  opened  my  lips  to  parley,  but  found  my- 
self interrupted.  A  cry  came  from  behind 
me,  a  low,  utterly  rapturous  cry.  I  was  thrust 
aside,  and  saw  the  girl  spring  past  me.  An 
instant  later  she  was  by  the  stranger,  kneeling, 
with  her  arms  about  him  and  her  bright  head 
against  his  cheek. 

"Jean!  Dear  Jean!"  she  was  crying  be- 
tween tears  and  laughter.  "We  thought  you 
were  dead  I  We  thought  you  were  never  com- 
ing back  to  Raincy-la-Tour!" 

It  seemed  to  me  that  some  one  had  struck 
my  head  a  stunning  blow.  For  an  interval  I 
stood  dazed ;  then,  painfully,  my  brain  stirred. 
Things  went  dancing  across  it  like  sharp,  stab- 
bing little  flames,  guesses,  memories,  scraps  of 
talk  I  had  heard,  items  I  had  read;  but  they 


288    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

were  scattered,  without  cohesion;  like  will-o'- 
the-wisps,  they  could  not  be  seized. 

There  was  a  young  man,  a  noble  of  France, 
who  had  been  a  hero.  I  had  read  of  him  in  a 
certain  extra,  as  my  steamer  left  New  York. 
He  had  disappeared.  Certain  papers  had  van- 
ished with  him.  He  had  been  suspected,  be- 
cause it  was  known  that  the  Germans  wanted 
those  special  documents.  All  the  world,  I 
thought  dully,  seemed  to  be  hunting  papers; 
the  French,  the  Germans,  Miss  Falconer, 
and  I. 

Once  more  I  looked  at  the  man  on  the  chest. 
He  had  dropped  his  pistol  and  was  clasping 
the  girl  to  him,  soothing  her,  stroking  her 
hair.  My  brain  began  to  work  more  rapidly. 
The  little  flashes  of  light  seemed  to  run  to- 
gether, to  crystallize  into  a  whole.     I  knew. 

Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier,  the  Duke  of 
Raincy-la-Tour,  the  Firefly  of  France. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  FIREFLY   OF   FRANCE 

HE  was  very  weak  indeed;  it  seemed  a 
miracle  that,  at  the  sounds  below,  he  had 
found  strength  to  drag  himself  from  his  bed 
and  crawl  inch  by  inch  to  the  room  of  the 
secret  panel  to  mount  guard  there;  and  no 
sooner  had  he  soothed  Miss  Falconer  than  he 
collapsed  in  a  sort  of  swoon.  We  laid  him  on 
the  chest,  and  I  fetched  a  pillow  for  his  head 
and  stripped  ofip  my  coat  and  spread  it  over 
him.  I  took  out  my  pocket-flask,  too,  and 
forced  a  few  drops  between  his  teeth.  In 
short,  I  tried  to  play  the  game. 

When  his  eyes  opened,  however,  my  endur- 
ance had  reached  its  limits.  With  a  muttered 
excuse, — not  that  I  flattered  myself  they 
wanted  me  to  stay! — I  left  them  and  stumbled 
into  the  room  of  the  squires,  taking  refuge  in 
the  grateful  dark.     I  don't  know  how  long  I 


290    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

sat  there,  elbows  on  knees,  hands  propping  my 
head;  but  it  was  a  ghastly  vigil.  In  this 
round,  unlike  the  battle  in  the  hall,  I  had  not 
been  victor.     Instead,  I  had  taken  the  count. 

I  knew  now,  of  course,  that  I  was  in  love 
with  Esme  Falconer.  Judging  from  the 
violence  of  the  sensation,  I  must  have  loved  her 
for  quite  a  while.  Probably  it  had  begun  that 
night  in  the  St.  Ives  restaurant;  for  when  be- 
fore had  I  watched  any  girl  with  such  special, 
ecstatic,  almost  proprietary  rapture?  Yes, 
that  was  why,  ever  since,  I  had  been  cutting 
such  crazy  capers.  From  first  to  last  they 
were  the  natural  thing,  the  prerogative  of  a 
man  in  my  state  of  mind  or  heart. 

Many  threads  of  the  affair  still  remained 
to  be  unraveled.  I  didn't  know  what  the 
duke  was  doing  here,  what  he  had  been  about 
for  a  month  past,  how  the  girl,  far  off  in 
America,  had  guessed  his  whereabouts  and  his 
need ;  nor  did  I  care.  His  mere  existence  was 
enough — that  and  Esme's  love  for  him.  All 
my  interest  in  my  Chinese  puzzle  had  come  to 
a  wretched  end. 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    291 

"Confound  him!"  I  thought  savagely. 
"We  could  have  spared  him  perfectly.  What 
business  has  he  turning  up  at  the  eleventh 
hoiu"?  He  didn't  cross  the  ocean  with  her. 
He  did  n't  suspect  her  unforgivably.  He 
did  n't  help  her,  and  disguise  himself  as  a 
chauffeur  for  her,  and  wing  Schwartzmann, 
and  bruise  up  the  other  chaps  and  send  them 
rolhng  in  a  heap.  This  is  my  adventure.  He 
must  have  had  a  hundred.  Why  could  n't  he 
stick  to  his  high-flying  and  dazzling  and  let 
me  alone?" 

The  murmur  of  voices  drifted  from  the  lord's 
bedchamber.  I  could  guess  what  they  had  to 
say  to  each  other.  Miss  Falconer  and  her  duke. 
The  Firefly  of  France  I  Even  I,  a  benighted 
foreigner,  knew  the  things  that  title  stood 
for :  heroism,  in  a  land  where  every  soldier  was 
a  hero;  praise  and  medals  and  glory;  thirty 
conquered  aeroplanes — a  record  over  which  his 
ancestors,  those  old  marshals  and  constables 
lying  effigied  on  their  tombs  of  marble  with 
their  feet  resting  on  carved  lions,  must  nod 
their  heads  with  pride. 


292    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Mr.  Baynel" 

It  was  Miss  Falconer's  voice.  I  rose  re- 
luctantly and  obeyed  the  summons.  The 
Firefly  was  sitting  propped  on  the  chest,  white, 
but  steadier,  while  Esme  still  knelt  beside  him, 
holding  his  hand  in  hers. 

"I  have  been  telling  Jean,  Mr.  Bayne,  how 
you  have  helped  us."  The  radiance  of  her 
face,  the  lilt  of  her  voice,  stabbed  me  with  a 
jealous  pang.  I  wanted  to  see  her  happy, 
Heaven  knew,  but  not  quite  in  this  manner. 
"And  he  wants  to  thank  you  for  all  that  you 
have  done." 

The  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour  spoke  to  me  in 
English  that  was  correct,  but  quaintly  formal, 
of  a  decided  charm. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "I  offer  you  my  grati- 
tude. And  if  you  will  touch  the  hand  of  one 
concerning  whom,  I  fear,  very  evil  things  are 
believed — " 

I  forced  a  smile  and  a  hearty  pressure. 

"I  '11  risk  it,"  I  assured  him.  "The  chain 
of  evidence  against  you  seemed  far-fetched  to 
say  the  least.     They  pointed  out  accusingly 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    293 

that  your  father  and  your  grandfather  had 
been  Royalists,  and  that  therefore — " 

He  made  a  gesture. 

"May  their  souls  find  repose !  Monsieur,  it 
is  true  that  they  were.  But  if  they  lived  to- 
day, my  father  and  grandfather,  they  would 
not  be  traitors.  They  would  wear,  like  me, 
the  uniform  of  France." 

He  smiled,  and  I  knew  once  for  all  that  I 
could  never  hate  him;  that  mere  envy  and  a 
shame  of  it  were  the  worst  that  I  could  feel. 
Everything  about  him  won  me,  his  simplicity, 
his  fine  pride,  his  clearness  of  eye  and  voice, 
his  look  of  a  swift,  polished  sword  blade.  I 
had  never  seen  a  man  like  him.  The  Duchess 
of  Raincy-la-Tour  would  be  a  lucky  woman; 
so  much  was  plain. 

I  found  a  seat  on  the  window  ledge,  the  girl 
remained  kneeling  by  him,  and  he  told  us  his 
story,  always  in  that  quaint,  formal  speech. 
As  it  went  on  it  absorbed  me.  I  even  forgot 
those  clasped  hands  for  an  occasional  instant. 
In  every  detail,  in  every  quiet  sentence,  there 
was  some  note  that  brought  before  me  the  Fire- 


294    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

fly's  achievements,  the  marauding  airships  he 
had  climbed  into  the  air  to  meet,  the  foes  he 
had  swooped  from  the  blue  to  conquer,  his 
darts  into  the  land  of  his  enemies  where  there 
was  a  price  upon  his  head. 

The  story  had  to  do  with  a  night  when  he 
had  left  the  French  lines  behind  him.  His 
commander  had  been  quite  frank.  The  mis- 
sion meant  his  probable  death.  He  was  to 
wear  a  Grcrman  uniform;  to  land  inside  the 
lines  of  the  kaiser ;  to  conceal  his  plane,  if  luck 
favored  him,  among  the  trees  in  the  grounds  of 
the  old  chateau  of  Ranceville;  to  get  what 
knowledge  and  sketch  what  plans  he  could  of 
defenses  against  which  the  French  attacks  had 
hij^erto  broken  vainly,  and  to  bring  them 
home. 

All  had  gone  well  at  first.  His  gallant  lit- 
tle plane  had  winged  its  way  into  the  unknown 
like  a  darting  swallow;  he  had  landed  safely; 
and  after  he  had  walked  for  hours  with  the 
Germans  about  him  and  death  beside  him,  he 
had  gained  his  spoils.  It  was  as  he  rose  for 
the  jetum  flight  that  the  alarm  was  given. 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    295 

He  got  away;  but  he  had  five  hostile  aircraft 
after  him.  Could  he  hope  to  elude  them  and 
to  land  safely  at  the  French  lines? 

It  was  in  that  hour,  while  the  night  lingered 
and  the  stars  still  shone  and  the  cannon  of  the 
two  armies  challenged  each  other  steadily,  that 
the  Firefly  of  France  fought  his  greatest  bat- 
tle in  the  air.  Since  his  whole  aim  was  escape, 
it  was  bloodless;  he  had  to  trust  to  skill  and 
cunning;  he  dared  manoeuvers  that  appalled 
others,  dropped  plummet-like,  looped  dizzily, 
soared  to  the  sheerest  heights.  He  had  been 
wounded.  The  framework  of  his  plane  was 
damaged.  Still  he  gained  on  his  foes  and  won 
through  to  the  lines  of  France. 

"But  I  might  not  land  there,"  he  explained. 
"The  Germans  followed.  A  mist  had  closed 
about  us,  hiding  us  from  my  friends  below. 
I  heard  only  my  propeller;  and  that,  by  now, 
sounded  faint  to  me,  for  I  was  weakening; 
one  shot  had  hit  my  shoulder  and  another  had 
wounded  my  left  arm." 

The  girl  swayed  closer  against  him,  watch- 
ing him  with  eyes  of  worship.    Well,  I  did  n't 


296    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

wonder,  though  it  cut  me  to  the  heart.  Even 
a  fairy  prince  could  have  been  no  worthier  of 
her  than  this  Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier ;  of 
that  at  least,  I  told  myself  dourly,  I  must  be 
glad. 

"As  I  raced  on,"  said  the  duke,  "there  came 
a  certain  thought  to  me.  We  had  traveled 
far;  we  were  in  the  country  near  Prezelay,  my 
cousin's  house.  The  village,  I  knew,  was 
ruined,  but  the  chateau  stood;  and  if  I  could 
reach  it,  old  Marie-Jeanne  would  help  me. 
You  comprehend,  my  weakness  was  growing. 
I  knew  I  had  little  more  time." 

The  shrouding  mist  had  aided  him  to  lose 
those  pursuing  vultures.  The  last  of  them 
fell  off,  baffled, — or  afraid  to  go  deeper  into 
France.  Now  he  emerged  again  into  the  clear 
air  and  the  starlight.  The  land  beneath  him 
was  a  scudding  blur,  with  a  dark-green  mass 
in  its  center,  the  forest  of  La  Fay. 

And  then,  suddenly,  he  knew  he  must  land 
if  he  were  not  to  lose  consciousness  and  hurtle 
down  blindly;  and  with  set  teeth  and  sweat 
beading  his  forehead,  he  began  the  descent. 


A  man  lying  ouUide  the  gate  and  babbling  deliriously 


•'':>:'U  •::..:/••...; 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    297 

At  the  end  his  strength  failed  him.  The  plane 
crashed  among  the  trees.  "But  Saint  Denis, 
who  helps  all  Frenchmen,  helped  me," — he 
smiled — "and  I  was  thrown  clear." 

From  that  thicket  where  his  machine  lay 
hidden  it  was  a  mile  to  Prezelay.  He  dragged 
himself  over  this  distance,  sometimes  on  his 
hands  and  knees.  Soon  after  dawn  Marie- 
Jeanne,  answering  a  discordant  ringing,  found 
a  man  lying  outside  the  gate  and  babbling  de- 
liriously, her  master's  cousin,  in  a  blood-soaked 
uniform,  holding  out  a  bundle  of  papers,  and 
begging  her  by  the  soul  of  her  mother  to  put 
them  in  the  castle's  secret  hiding-place. 

She  did  it.  Then  she  coaxed  the  wounded 
man  to  the  rooms  opening  from  the  gallery  and 
tended  him  day  and  night  through  the  weeks 
of  fever  that  ensued.  From  his  ravings  she 
learned  that  he  was  in  danger  and  feared  pur- 
suers ;  and  with  the  peasant's  instinct  for  cau- 
tion, she  had  not  dared  to  send  for  help. 

"It  was  yesterday,"  the  duke  told  us,  "that 
my  mind  came  back.  I  knew  then  what  must 
be  thought  of  me,  what  must  be  said  of  me,  all 


298    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

over  France."  He  was  leaning  on  the  wall 
now,  exhausted  and  white,  but  dauntless. 
"  No  matter  for  that — I  have  the  papers. 
You  recall  the  hiding-place?" 

He  smiled  as  he  asked  the  question,  and  Miss 
Falconer  smiled  back  at  him.  Getting  to  her 
feet,  she  ran  her  fingers  across  the  oak  panel 
over  his  head,  where  for  centuries  a  huntsman 
had  been  riding  across  a  forest  glade  and  blow- 
ing his  horn.  The  handle  of  his  hunting-knife 
protruded  just  a  little;  and  as  the  girl  pressed 
it,  the  panel  glided  silently  open,  reveahng  a 
space,  square  and  dark  and  cobwebby. 

Something  was  lying  there,  a  thin,  wafer- 
like packet  of  papers,  the  papers  for  which  the 
Firefly  of  France  had  shed  his  blood.  She 
held  them  up  in  triumph.  But  the  duke  was 
still  smiling  faintly.  He  thrust  one  hand  into 
his  shirt  and  drew  out  a  duplicate  package, 
which  he  raised  for  us  to  see. 

"Behold!"  he  said.  "They  are  copies.  All 
that  I  sketched  that  night  near  Ranceville,  all 
that  I  wrote — I  did  not  once,  but  twice.  These 
I  carried  openly,  to  be  found  if  I  were  cap- 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    299 

tiired.  But  those  you  hold  went  hidden  in  the 
sole  of  my  boot,  which  was  hollowed  for  them, 
so  that  if  I  were  taken  and  then  escaped,  they 
might  go  tool" 

I  had  read  of  such  devices,  I  remembered 
vaguely.  There  was  a  story  of  a  young 
French  captain  who  had  tried  the  trick  in 
Champagne  and  succeeded  with  it,  a  rather 
famous  exploit.  Then  I  thought  of  something 
else.     I  got  up  slowly. 

"You  have  two  sets  of  papers?"  I  repeated. 

"As  you  see.  Monsieur." 

"Then  I  'U  take  one  of  them,"  said  I. 

Miss  Falconer  was  looking  at  me  in  a  puzzled 
fashion.  As  for  the  duke,  his  brows  drew  to- 
gether; his  figure  straightened;  the  cool  glint 
grew  in  his  eyes. 

"Monsieur,"  he  stated  somewhat  icily,  "such 
things  as  these  are  not  souvenirs.  When  they 
leave  my  possession  they  will  go  to  the  supreme 
command." 

"Certainly,"  I  agreed,  unruffled.  "That 
will  do  admirably  for  the  first  package;  but 
about  the  second — no  doubt  Missf  Falconer 


800    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

told  you  that  we  have  German  guests  down- 
stairs? Perhaps  she  forgot  to  mention  the 
leader's  name,  though.  It  is  Franz  von  Blen- 
heim. And  I  don't  care  to  have  him  break 
down  the  door  and  burst  in  on  us,  on  her  spe- 
cially; I  would  rather,  all  things  considered, 
interview  him  in  the  hall." 

The  Firefly's  face  had  altered  at  the  name 
of  the  secret  agent;  he  was  now  regarding  me 
with  intentness,  but  without  a  frown.  As  for 
Miss  Falconer,  the  trouble  in  her  eyes  was 
growing.  I  should  have  to  be  careful.  Ac- 
cordingly I  summoned  a  debonair  manner  as 
I  went  on. 

"If  you  '11  allow  me,"  I  said,  "I  will  take 
the  papers  down  to  him.  He  won't  know 
that  they  are  copies;  he  will  snatch  at  them, 
glad  of  the  chance.  And  since  he  is  in  a  hurry, 
he  probably  won't  stop  to  parley.  He  will 
simply  be  off  at  top  speed,  and  leave  us  safe. 

"Of  course,  that  is  the  one  unpleasant  fea- 
ture of  the  affair,  his  going."  At  this  point 
I  glanced  in  a  casual  manner  at  the  Duke  of 
Raincy-la-Tour.     "It  seems  a  pity  to  let  him 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    301 

walk  off  scot-free,  to  plan  more  trouble  for 
France ;  but  that  is  past  praying  for.  I  could 
hardly  hope  to  stop  him,  except  by  a  miracle. 
If  there  is  one,  I  '11  be  on  hand." 

Would  the  duke  guess  the  hope  with  which 
I  was  going  down-stairs,  I  wondered.  I 
thought  he  did,  for  his  eyes  flashed  slightly, 
fuid  he  stirred  a  little  on  the  chest. 

"Such  a  miracle.  Monsieur,"  he  remarked, 
"would  serve  France  greatly.  As  a  good  son 
of  the  Church,  I  will  pray  for  it  with  all  my 
heart!" 

"I  hope  to  come  back,"  I  went  on,  "and 
rejoin  you.  But  if  I  should  n't  for  any  rea- 
son,"— with  careful  vagueness, — "you  must 
stay  here,  barricaded,  till  they  are  gone.  Then 
Miss  Falconer  can  drive  her  car  to  the  nearest 
town  and  bring  back  help  for  you.  You  see, 
it  will  be  entirely  simple,  either  way." 

The  girl,  very  white  now,  took  a  swift  step 
toward  me. 

"Simple?"  she  cried.  "They  will  kill  you! 
They  hate  you,  Mr.  Bayne,  and  they  are  four 
to  one.    You  must  n't  go !" 


802    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

But  the  duke's  hand  was  on  her  arm. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  *'he  has  reason.  This 
friend  of  yours,  I  perceive,  is  a  gallant  gentle- 
man. Believe  me,  if  I  had  strength  to  stand, 
he  would  not  go  alone." 

He  held  out  the  papers  to  me,  and  I  took 
them.  Then  we  clasped  hands,  the  Firefly 
and  I. 

"Borine  chance.  Monsieur/'  he  bade  me  with 
the  pressure. 

"Good  luck  and  good-by,"  I  answered. 
"Miss  Falconer,  will  you  come  to  the  door?" 

She  took  up  the  candle  and  came  forward 
to  hght  me,  and  we  went  in  silence  through 
the  room  of  the  squires  and  through  the  ante- 
chamber and  into  the  room  of  the  guards. 
She  walked  close  beside  me;  her  eyes  shone 
wet;  her  lips  trembled.  There  were  things  I 
would  have  given  the  world  to  say,  but  I  sup- 
pressed them.  To  the  very  end,  I  had  re- 
solved, I  would  play  fair.  We  were  at  the 
outer  door. 

"Good-by,  Miss  Falconer,"  I  said,  halt- 
ing.    "You  must  n't  worry ;  everything  is  go- 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    303 

ing  to  turn  out  splendidly,  I  am  sure.  Only, 
now  that  we  have  the  papers,  it  ends  our  little 
adventure,  does  n't  it?  So  before  I  go  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  our  day  together.  It  has 
been  wonderful.  There  never  was  another 
like  it.  I  shall  always  be  thankful  for  it,  no 
matter  what  I  have  to  pay." 

I  stopped  abruptly,  realizing  that  this  was 
not  cricket.  To  make  up,  I  put  out  my  hand 
quite  coolly;  but  she  grasped  it  in  both  of  hers 
and  held  it  in  a  soft,  warm  clasp. 

"I  shall  never  forget,"  she  whispered. 
"Come  back  to  us,  Mr.  Bayne!" 

For  a  moment  I  looked  at  her  in  the  light 
of  the  candle,  at  her  lovely  face,  at  the  ruddy 
hair  framing  it,  at  the  tears  heavy  on  her 
lashes.  Then  I  drew  the  bolt  and  went  out 
and  heard  her  fasten  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   OBUS 

I  STOOD  in  the  gallery  for  an  instant,  in- 
dulging in  a  reconnoissance.  The  hall 
was  now  illuminated  by  an  electric  torch  and 
three  guttering  candles ;  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case lay  the  table  which  had  done  such  yeoman's 
service,  split  in  two.  As  for  the  besiegers,  they 
were  gathered  near  the  chimney-place  in  a 
worse-for-wear  group,  one  nursing  a  nosebleed; 
another  feeling  gingerly  of  a  loose  tooth ;  Blen- 
heim himself  frankly  raging,  and  decorated 
with  a  broad  cut  across  his  forehead  and  a 
cheek  that  was  rapidly  taking  on  assorted 
shades  of  blue,  green,  and  black;  and  the  re- 
doubtable Mr.  Schwartzmann,  worst  off  of  all, 
lying  in  a  heap,  groaning  at  intervals,  but  ap- 
parently quite  unaware  of  what  was  going  on. 
My   abrupt    sally    seemed   transfixing.     I 

804 


THE  OBUS  305 

might  have  been  Medusa.  I  had  a  welcome 
minute  in  which  to  contemplate  the  victims  of 
my  prowess  and  to  exult  unchristianly  in  their 
scars.  Then  the  tableau  dissolved,  the  three 
men  sprang  up,  and  I  took  action.  As  I 
emerged  I  had  drawn  out  a  handkerchief  and 
I  now  proceeded  to  raise  and  wave  it. 

"Well,  Herr  von  Blenheim,  I  have  come  to 
parley  with  you,"  I  announced,  "white  flag 
and  all." 

He  tried  to  look  as  if  he  had  expected  me, 
though  it  was  obvious  that  he  hadn't.  To 
give  verisimilitude  to  the  pretense,  he  even 
pulled  out  his  watch. 

"I  thought  you  would.  You  had  just  two 
minutes'  grace,"  he  commented,  watching  me 
narrowly.  "Suppose  you  come  down.  You 
have  brought  the  papers,  I  hope — for  your  own 
sake?" 

"Oh,  yes!"  I  assured  him  with  all  possible 
blandness.  "I  have  brought  them.  What 
else  was  there  to  do?  You  had  us  in  the  palm 
of  your  hand.  That  door  is  old  and  worm- 
eaten;  you  could  have  crumpled  it  up  like 


806    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

paper.  When  we  thought  the  situation  over 
we  saw  its  hopelessness  at  once ;  so  here  I  am." 

"That 's  sensible,"  he  agreed  curtly,  though 
I  could  see  that  he  was  puzzled.  Casting  a 
baffled  glance  beyond  me,  he  scanned  the  gal- 
lery door.  It  by  no  means  merited  my  de- 
scription being  heavy,  solid,  almost  immovable 
in  aspect.  "Well,  let's  have  the  papers!"  he 
said,  with  suspicion  in  his  tone. 

I  descended  in  a  deliberate  manner,  casting 
alert  eyes  about  me,  for,  to  use  an  expressive 
idiom,  I  was  not  doing  this  for  my  health. 
On  the  contrary  I  had  two  very  definite  pur- 
poses: the  first,  which  I  could  probably  com- 
pass, was  to  save  Miss  Falconer  from  further 
intercourse  with  Blenheim  and  to  conceal  the 
presence  of  the  wounded,  helpless  Firefly  from 
his  enemies;  the  second,  surprisingly  modest, 
was  to  make  the  four  Germans  prisoners  and 
hand  them  over  in  triumph  to  the  gendarmes 
of  the  nearest  town,  Santierre. 

I  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  absurdity  of 
this  ambition.  I  lacked  the  ghost  of  an  idea 
of  how  to  set  about  the  thing.    But  the  gen- 


THE  OBUS  307 

eral  craziness  of  events  had  unhinged  me. 
I  was  forming  the  habit  of  trusting  to  pure 
luck  and  vogue  la  galere!  I  can't  swear  that 
I  had  n't  visions  of  conquering  all  my  adver- 
saries in  some  miraculous  single-handed  fash- 
ion, disarming  them,  and,  as  a  final  sweet  touch 
of  revenge,  tying  them  up  in  chairs,  to  keep 
Marie-Jeanne  company  and  meditate  on  the 
turns  of  fate. 

"Here  they  are,"  I  said,  obligingly  offering 
the  package.  "We  found  them  nesthng  be- 
hind a  panel — old  family  hiding  place,  you 
know.  I  can't  vouch  for  their  contents,  not 
being  an  expert,  but  Miss  Falconer  was  satis- 
fied. How  about  it,  now  you  look  at  them? 
Do  they  seem  all  right?" 

Not  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  my 
conversational  efforts,  Blenheim  had  snatched 
the  papers,  torn  them  hungrily  open,  and  run 
them  through.  He  was  bristhng  with  suspi- 
cion; but  he  evidently  knew  his  business.  It 
did  not  take  him  long  to  conclude  that  he 
really  had  his  spoils. 

Folding  them  up  carefully,  he  thrust  them 


808    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

into  his  coat  and  stored  them,  displaying,  how- 
ever, less  triumph  than  I  had  thought  he  would. 
The  truth  was  that  he  looked  preoccupied,  and 
I  wondered  why.  For  the  first  time  in  all  the 
hair-trigger  situations  that  I  had  seen  him 
face  I  sensed  a  strain  in  him. 

"So  much  for  that.  Now,  Mr.  Bayne,  what 
do  you  think  we  mean  to  do  to  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  I  answered  rather 
absently;  I  was  weighing  the  relative  merits 
of  jiu-jitsu  and  my  five  remaining  revolver- 
shots.  "Is  there  anything  sufficiently  linger- 
ing? Let  me  suggest  boiling  oil;  or  I  under- 
stand that  roasting  over  a  slow  fire  is  consid- 
ered tasty.  Either  of  those  methods  would 
appeal  to  you,  wouldn't  it?" 

"I  don't  deny  it!"  Blenheim  answered  in  a 
tone  that  was  convincing.  "You  have  n't  en- 
deared yourself  to  us,  my  friend,  in  the  last 
hour.  But  we  can't  spare  you  yet;  our  plans 
for  the  evening  are  lively  ones  and  they  include 
you.  I  told  you,  did  n't  I,  that  we  were  go- 
ing to  no-man's-land  via  the  trenches,  when 
we  finished  this  affair?" 


THE  OBUS  809 

"You  told  me  many  interesting  things. 
I  've  forgotten  some  of  the  details."  I  was 
aware  of  a  thrill  of  excitement.  The  man  was 
worried ;  so  much  was  sure. 

"You  will  recall  them  presently,  or  if  you 
don't,  I  '11  refresh  your  memory.  The  fact 
is,  Mr.  Bayne,  you  have  put  a  pretty  spoke 
in  our  wheel.  It  stands  this  way :  our  papers 
are  made  out  for  a  party  of  four  officers,  and 
you  have  eliminated  Schwartzmann.  Don't 
you  owe  us  some  amends  for  that?  You  like 
disguises,  I  gather  from  your  costume.  What 
do  you  say  to  putting  on  a  new  one,  a  pale- 
blue  uniform,  and  seeing  us  through  the 
lines?" 

He  looked,  while  uttering  this  wild  pleas- 
antry, about  as  humorous  as  King  Attila. 
Could  he  possibly  be  in  earnest?  After  all, 
perhaps  he  was!  War  rules  were  cast-iron 
things;  if  his  pass  called  for  four  men,  four 
he  must  have  or  rouse  suspicion;  and  it  was 
certain  that  Herr  Schwartzmann  would  do  no 
gadding  to-night  or  for  many  nights  to  come. 
That  shot  of  mine  from  the  gallery  had  upset 


310    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Blenheim's  plans  very  neatly.  I  stared  ai; 
him,  fascinated. 

"Well?"  said  he.     "Do  you  understand?" 

"I  understand,"  I  exclaimed  indignantly, 
"that  this  is  too  muchl  It  is,  really.  I  was 
getting  hardened;  I  could  stand  a  mere  im- 
possibihty  or  two  and  not  blink;  but  this!  It 
is  beyond  the  bounds.  I  shall  begin  to  see 
green  snakes  presently  or  writhing  sea-ser- 
pents— " 

"No,"  Blenheim  cut  me  short  savagely, 
"you  are  underestimating.  Unless  you  oblige 
us  what  you  will  see  is  the  hereafter,  Mr. 
Bayne!" 

Yes,  he  meant  it.  His  very  fierceness,  elo- 
quent of  frazzled  nerves,  was  proof  conclus- 
ive. With  another  thrill,  triumphant  this 
time,  I  recognized  my  chance.  His  campaign, 
instead  of  going  according  to  specifications, 
had  been  interfered  with ;  his  position  was  dan- 
gerous ;  he  had  no  time  to  lose ;  for  all  he  knew, 
at  any  point  along  the  road  his  masquerade 
might  have  been  suspected,  the  authorities  no- 
tified, vengeance  put  on  his  track.    In  despera- 


THE  OBUS  811 

tion  he  meant  to  risk  my  denouncing  him,  use 
me  till  he  reached  the  Front  trenches  and  his 
friends  there,  and  then,  no  doubt,  get  rid  of 
me.  What  he  could  n't  guess  was  that  I  would 
have  turned  the  earth  upside  down  to  make 
this  opportunity  that  he  was  offering  me  on  a 
silver  tray. 

*'0h,  I  '11  oblige  you,"  I  assured  him  with 
what  must  have  seemed  insane  cheerfulness. 
"I  '11  obhge  you,  Herr  von  Blenheim,  with 
all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  If  you  really 
want  me,  that  is.  If  my  presence  won't  make 
you  nervous.  Are  n't  you  afraid,  for  instance, 
that  I  might  be  tempted  to  share  my  knowl- 
edge of  your  name  and  your  profession  with 
the  first  French  soldiers  we  meet?" 

"As  to  that,  we  will  take  our  chances." 
Blenheim's  face  was  adamant,  though  my  sug- 
gestion had  produced  a  not  entirely  enliven- 
ing effect  on  his  two  friends.  "You  see,  Mr. 
Bayne,  in  this  business  the  risks  will  be  mostly 
yours.  There  will  be  no  flights  of  stairs  to 
dart  up  and  no  tables  to  overturn  and  no 
candles  to  extinguish;  you  will  sit  in  the  ton- 


812    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

neau  with  a  man  beside  you,  a  very  watchful 
man,  and  a  pistol  against  your  side.  You 
don't  want  to  die,  do  you?  I  thought  not, 
since  you  surrendered  those  papers.  Well, 
then,  you  '11  be  wise  not  to  say  a  word  or  stir 
a  muscle.  And  now  we  are  in  a  hurry.  Will 
you  make  your  toilet,  please?" 

It  was  the  bizarre  curtain  scene  of  what  I 
had  called  an  extravaganza.  Blenheim's  con- 
federates, taking  no  special  pains  for  gentle- 
ness, stripped  off  the  outer  garments  of  the 
prostrate  Schwartzmann,  who  moaned  and 
groaned  throughout  the  process,  though  he 
never  opened  his  eyes.  Blenheim  urged  haste 
upon  us;  he  was  getting  more  fidgety  every 
instant;  he  bit  his  lip,  drummed  with  his  fin- 
gers, kept  an  ear  cocked,  as  if  expecting  to  hear 
pursuers  at  the  door.  Still,  he  neglected  no 
precautions.  He  demanded  my  revolver.  I 
surrendered  it  amiably,  and  then  doffed  my 
chauffeur's  outfit  and  took,  from  a  social  stand- 
point, a  gratifying  step  upward,  donning  one 
by  one  the  insignia  of  France. 

The  fit  was  not  perfect  by  any  means. 


THE  OBUS  313 

Schwartzmann  was  a  giant,  a  mountain.  My 
feet  swished  about  groggily  in  his  burnished 
putties ;  his  garments  hung  round  me  in  ample, 
rather  than  graceful,  folds.  However,  the 
loose  cape  of  horizon  blue  resembled  charity 
in  covering  defects.  As  a  dummy,  sitting  mo- 
tionless in  the  rear  of  the  automobile,  my  cap- 
tors felt  that  I  would  pass. 

By  this  time  I  was  enchanted  with  the  plans 
I  was  concocting.  I  might  look  like  an  opera- 
bouffe  hero, — no  doubt  I  did, — but  my  hour 
would  come.  Meanwhile  events  were  march- 
ing. My  transformation  being  complete, 
Blenheim  gave  a  curt  order  in  German,  the 
candles  were  blown  out,  and  lighted  only  by 
the  torch,  we  turned  toward  the  door.  There 
was  an  inarticulate  cry  from  Schwartzmann, 
just  conscious  enough,  poor  beggar,  to  grasp 
the  fact  of  his  abandonment  in  the  strategic 
retreat  his  friends  were  beating.  Then  we 
were  out  in  the  courtyard,  beneath  the  stars. 

Down  the  hill,  sheltered  behind  the  stones  of 
a  ruined  house,  the  gray  car  was  waiting,  and 
Blenheim  climbed  into  the  driver's  seat,  mean- 


814    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

while  giving  brief  directions.  There  was  no 
noise,  no  flurry;  the  affair,  I  must  say,  went 
with  an  efficiency  in  keeping  with  the  proudest 
Prussian  traditions.  I  was  installed  in  the 
tonneau,  and  I  was  hardly  seated  before  the 
motor  hummed  into  life,  and  we  jolted  into  the 
moonlit  road. 

For  perhaps  the  hundredth  time  I  asked  my- 
self if  I  was  dreaming;  if  this  person  in  a 
French  disguise,  speeding  through  the  night 
with  a  blue-clad  German  beside  him, — a  Ger- 
man suffering,  by  the  way,  from  a  headache, 
the  last  stages  of  a  nosebleed,  and  a  pro- 
nounced dislike  for  me  as  the  agency  respon- 
sible for  his  ailments, — was  really  Devereux 
Bayne.  But  the  air  was  cold  on  my  face;  a 
revolver  pressed  my  side;  I  saw  three  set, 
hard  profiles.  It  was  not  a  dream;  it  was  a 
dash  for  safety.  And  it  was  engineered  by 
anxious,  desperate  men. 

Blenheim,  hunched  over  the  steering  wheel, 
had  settled  to  his  business.  Certainly  his  nerve 
was  going;  the  mania  for  escape  had  caught 
him;  he  took  startling  chances  on  his  curves 


THE  OBUS  315 

and  turns.  Still,  he  knew  the  country,  it 
seemed.  We  drove  on,  fast  and  furiously,  by 
lanes,  by  mere  paths  set  among  thickets,  by 
narrow  brushwood  roads.  Sometimes  we 
skirted  the  river,  which  shone  silver  in  the 
moonlight,  lined  with  rushes.  Again,  we 
could  see  nothing  but  a  roof  of  trees  overhead. 

We  emerged  into  a  wider  road,  and  I  became 
aware  of  various  noises:  a  booming,  clear  and 
regular;  the  sound  of  voices;  the  rumbling  of 
many  wheels.  We  must  be  nearing  the  Front ; 
we  were  rejoining  the  main  highroad.  My 
guess  was  proved  correct  at  the  next  turning, 
where  a  sentry  barred  our  path. 

The  sight  of  his  honest  French  face  was  like 
a  tonic  to  me.  In  some  welcome  way  it  seemed 
to  hearten  me  for  my  task.  The  pistol  of 
my  friend  in  the  tonneau  bored  through  his 
cape  into  my  side;  I  sat  very  quiet.  If  I  did 
this  four,  five,  perhaps  six  times,  they  might 
think  me  cowed  and  relax  their  vigilance. 
Their  suspicions  would  be  lulled  by  my  tract- 
ability  and  their  contempt.  Then  my  hour 
would  strike. 


316    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

Satisfied  with  the  safe-conducts,  the  sentry 
gestured  us  forward,  and  his  figure  slipped  out 
of  my  vision  as  the  gray  car  purred  on.  The 
man  beside  me  chuckled. 

"Behold  this  Yankee!  He  is  as  good  as 
gold,  my  captain.  He  sits  like  a  mouse,"  he 
announced  in  his  own  tongue. 

"He  '11  be  wise,"  Blenheim  announced,  "to 
go  on  doing  so."  The  threat  was  in  English 
for  my  benefit  and  came  from  between  his 
teeth. 

In  front  of  us  the  noise  was  growing.  With 
our  next  turn  we  entered  the  highroad,  taking 
our  place  in  a  long  rumbling  line  of  ambulances 
and  supply-carts  and  laboring  camions,  or 
trucks.  We  glimpsed  faces,  heard  voices  all 
about  us.  The  change  from  solitude  to  this 
unbroken  procession  was  bewildering.  But 
we  did  not  long  remain  a  part  of  it;  we  turned 
again  into  narrower  lanes. 

The  control  was  growing  stricter.  Four 
separate  times  we  were  halted,  and  always  I 
sat  hunched  in  my  corner  as  impassive  as  a 
stone.    The  more  deeply  we  penetrated  to- 


THE  OBUS  317 

ward  the  Front,  the  more  uneasy  grew  my 
companions.  Each  time  that  a  sentry  halted 
us  they  waited  in  more  anxiety  for  his  verdict. 
The  man  beside  me,  it  was  true,  still  menaced 
me  with  his  pistol  point;  but  the  gesture  had 
grown  perf  unctorj\  He  did  not  think  I  would 
attempt  anything.  He  believed  now  that  I 
was  afraid. 

Our  road  crossed  a  hilltop,  and  I  saw  be- 
neath us  a  valley,  streaked  at  intervals  with 
blinding  signal-flashes  of  red  and  green.  In 
my  ears  the  thunder  of  the  guns  was  growing 
steadily.  When  we  were  stopped  again,  the 
sentry  warned  us.  The  road  we  were  travel- 
ing, he  said,  had  been  intermittently  under  fire 
for  two  days. 

It  looked,  indeed,  as  if  devils  had  used  it  for 
a  playground;  the  trees  were  mere  blackened 
stumps;  the  fields  on  each  side  stretched  burnt 
and  bare.  And  then  came  the  climax:  some- 
thing passed  us, — ^high  above  our  heads,  I 
fancy,  though  its  frightful  wings  seemed  brush- 
ing us, — a  ghost  of  the  night,  an  aerial  demon, 
a  shrieking  thing  that  made  the  man  beside  me 


818    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

cringe  and  shudder.  It  was  new  to  me,  but 
I  could  not  mistake  it.  It  was  what  the 
French  call  an  obus,  a  word  that  in  some  subtle 
manner  seems  more  menacing  and  dreadful 
than  our  own  term  of  shell. 

As  we  sped  on  I  leaned  against  the  cushions, 
outwardly  quiet.  Inwardly,  I  was  gathering 
myself  together  for  my  attempt.  I  had  not 
thought  I  would  first  approach  the  Front  this 
way;  but  it  was  a  good  way,  I  had  a  good  ob- 
ject. At  the  next  stop,  whatever  it  was,  I 
meant  to  make  the  venture.  I  did  not  doubt 
I  should  succeed  in  it.  But  I  could  not  hope 
to  keep  my  life. 

Another  obits  hurtled  over  us  and  shrieked 
away  into  the  distance ;  and  again  the  man  be- 
side me  flinched,  but  I  did  not.  I  was  think- 
ing, with  odd  lucidity,  of  many  things,  among 
them  Dunny  and  his  old  house  in  Washington, 
into  which  I  should  never  again  let  myself 
with  my  latch-key,  sure  of  a  welcome  at  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night.  My  guardian's  gray 
head  rose  before  me.  My  heart  tightened. 
The   finest,   straightest   old   chap   who   ever 


THE  OBUS  319 

took  a  forlorn  little  tike  in  out  of  the  wet,  and 
petted  him,  and  frolicked  with  him,  and  filled 
his  stocking  all  the  year  round,  and  made  his 
holidays  things  of  rapture,  and  taught  him  how 
to  ride  and  shoot  and  fish  and  swim  and  cut 
his  losses  and  do  pretty  much  everytliing  that 
makes  life  worth  living — that  was  Dunny. 

"This  will  be  a  hard  jolt  for  the  old  chap," 
I  thought,  "but  he  '11  say  that  I  played  the 
game." 

And  Esme  Falconer,  my  own  brave,  lovely 
Esmel  "She  has  come  down  the  staircase 
now,"  I  told  myself.  "She  has  untied  Marie- 
Jeanne.  She  has  gone  out  and  started  the 
car."  What  would  she  think  of  my  disap- 
pearance? Well,  she  wouldn't  misjudge  me, 
I  felt  sure;  and  neither  would  Jean-Herve- 
Marie-Olivier,  He  would  know  that  I  was 
acting  as,  in  my  place,  he  would  have  acted, 
that  I  didn't  mean  to  let  Franz  von  Blen- 
heim defy  France  and  go  off  untouched. 

The  whole  world  seemed  mysteriously  to 
have  narrowed  to  one  girl,  Esme.  How  I  had 
lived  before  I  saw  her;  how,  having  seen  her. 


320    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

I  could  ever  have  lived  without  her, — I  did  n't 
know.  But  the  sound  of  grinding  brakes 
roused  me.  We  were  slowing  up  in  obedience 
to  a  signal  from  a  canvas-covered,  half-de- 
molished shelter  filled  with  men  in  blue  uni- 
forms ;  we  were  coming  to  a  standstill.  Blen- 
heim leaned  out,  and  for  a  moment  I  saw  his 
face  in  the  beam  of  light  from  the  sentry's 
lantern.  It  looked  thin  and  set.  He  was  giv- 
ing beneath  the  strain. 

**Behold,  my  comrade!"  He  thrust  our 
papers  into  the  hands  of  the  sentry.  "And 
make  haste,  for  the  love  of  heaven  I  We  are 
waited  for  la-has." 

I  cast  a  quick  glance  at  my  body-guard, 
whose  anxious  eyes  were  on  the  sentinel.  His 
pistol  still  lay  against  my  side,  but  his  thoughts 
were  far  away.  It  was  the  moment.  With 
the  rapidity  of  lightning  I  knocked  his  arm  up, 
caught  his  wrist,  and  clung  to  it,  calling  out 
simultaneously  in  a  voice  of  crisp  command. 

"My  friends,"  I  cried  in  French,  "I  order 
you  to  arrest  these  persons!  They  are  agents 
of  the  kaiser!     They  are  German  spies!" 


THE  OBUS  821 

The  pistol,  clutched  between  us,  exploded 
harmlessly  into  the  air.  I  heard  shouts,  saw 
men  running  toward  us.  Then  I  caught  sight 
of  Blenheim's  face,  dark  and  oddly  contorted; 
he  had  turned  and  was  leveling  his  revolver 
at  me,  resting  one  knee  on  the  driver's  seat  as 
he  took  deliberate  aim. 

"I  say,"  I  cried  again,  struggling  for  the 
weapon,  "that  this  is  Franz  von  Blenheim,  that 
these  are  men  of  the  kaiser,  spying,  in  dis- 
guise—" 

It  seemed  to  me  that  some  one  caught  Blen- 
heim's arm  from  behind  just  as  he  fired;  but  I 
was  not  certain.  For  suddenly  that  same 
whistling  shriek  sounded  over  us,  nearer  this 
time,  more  ominous;  the  earth  seemed  to  rock 
and  then  to  end  in  a  mighty  shock  and 
cataclysm.  Blackness  enveloped  me,  and  I 
dropped  into  a  bottomless  pit. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AT  BAINCY-LA-TOUR 

WHEN  I  opened  my  eyes  it  was  with  a 
peculiarly  reluctant  feeling,  for  my 
eyelids  were  so  heavy  that  they  seemed  to  weigh 
a  ton.  My  head  was  unspeakably  groggy, 
and  I  had  quite  lost  my  memory.  I  could  n't, 
if  suddenly  interrogated,  have  replied  with  one 
intelhgent  bit  of  information  about  myself,  not 
even  with  my  name. 

Flat  on  my  back  I  was  lying,  gazing  up  at 
what,  surprisingly,  seemed  to  be  a  ceiling  fes- 
tooned with  garlands  of  roses  and  painted  with 
ladies  and  cavaliers,  idhng  about  a  stretch  of 
greensward,  decidedly  in  the  Watteau  style. 
Where  was  I?  What  had  happened  to  make 
me  feel  so  helpless?  It  reminded  me  of  an 
episode  of  my  childhood,  a  day  when  my  pony 
had  fallen  and  rolled  upon  me,  and  I  had  been 

322 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         323 

carried  home  with  two  crushed  ribs  and  a 
broken  arm. 

Coming  out  at  that  time  from  the  influence 
of  the  ether,  I  had  found  Dunny  at  my  bed- 
side. If  only  he  were  here  now!  I  looked 
round.  Why,  there  he  was,  sitting  in  a  bro- 
caded chair  by  the  window,  his  dear  old  silver 
bead  thrown  back,  dozing  beyond  a  doubt. 

To  see  him  gave  me  a  warm,  comforted, 
homelike  feeling.  Nor  did  it  surprise  me,  but 
my  surroundings  did.  The  room,  a  veritable 
Louis  Quinze  jewel  in  its  paneling,  carving, 
and  gilding,  might  have  come  direct  from  Ver- 
sailles by  parcel  post;  my  bed  was  garlanded 
and  curtained  in  rose-color.  Where  I  had 
gone  to  sleep  last  night  I  could  n't  remember ; 
but  it  hadn't,  I  was  obstinately  sure,  been 
here. 

What  ailed  me,  anyhow?  I  began  a  series 
of  cautious  experiments,  designed  to  discover 
the  trouble.  My  arms  were  weak  and  of  a 
strange,  flabby  limpness,  but  they  moved.  So 
did  my  left  leg;  but  when  I  came  to  the  right 
one  I  was  baffled.     It  wouldn't  stir;  it  was 


824    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

heavily  incased  in  something.  Good  heavens! 
now  I  knew  I     It  was  in  a  plaster  cast. 

The  shock  of  the  discovery  taught  me  some- 
thing further,  namely,  that  my  head  was  liable 
to  excruciating  little  throbs  of  pain.  I  raised 
a  hand  to  it.  My  forehead  was  swathed  in 
bandages,  like  a  turbaned  Turk's.  Oh,  to  be 
sure,  in  the  castle  at  Prezelay,  as  we  were  re- 
treating up  the  staircase,  Schwartzmann  had 
fired  at  me ;  but,  then,  had  n't  that  been  a  pin 
prick,  the  merest  scratch? 

The  name  Prezelay  served  as  a  key  to  solve 
the  puzzle.  The  whole  fantastic,  incredible 
chain  of  happenings  came  back  to  me  in  a  rush ; 
the  gray  car,  the  inn,  the  murder,  the  night  in 
the  castle,  Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. 

"Dunnyl"  I  heard  myself  quavering  in  a 
voice  utterly  unlike  my  own. 

The  figure  in  the  chair  started  up  and  hur- 
ried toward  me,  and  then  Dunny's  hands  were 
holding  my  hands,  his  eyes  looking  into  mine. 

"There,  Dev,  there!  Take  it  easy,"  the 
familiar  voice  was  soothing  me.     "Hold  on  to 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         325 

me,  my  boy.  You  are  safe  now.  You  're  all 
right!" 

My  safety,  however,  seemed  of  small  impor- 
tance for  the  time  being. 

"Dunny,"  I  implored,  "listen!  You  have 
got  to  find  out  for  me  about  a  girl.  How  am  I 
to  tell  you,  though?  If  I  start  the  story, 
you  '11  think  I  'm  raving." 

"I  know  all  about  it,  Dev,"  my  guardian  re- 
assured me.  "I  Ve  seen  Miss  Falconer. 
She  's  absolutely  safe." 

If  that  were  so,  I  could  relax,  and  I  did  with 
fervent  thankfulness.  Not  for  long,  how- 
ever ;  my  brain  had  begun  to  work. 

*'See  here!  I  want  to  know  who  has  been 
playing  football  with  me,"  was  my  next  de- 
mand, which  Dunny  answered  obligingly,  if 
with  a  slightly  dubious  face. 

"That  French  doctor,  nice  young  chap,  said 
you  were  n't  to  talk,"  he  muttered,  "but  if  I 
were  in  your  place  I  'd  want  to  know  a  few 
things  myself.  It  was  this  way,  Dev.  A 
fragment  of  a  shell  struck  you — " 


826    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"A  fragment!"  I  raised  weak  eyebrows. 
"I  know  better.  Twenty  shells  at  least,  and 
whole!" 

" — and  did  n't  strike  your  Teuton  friends," 
he  charged  on,  suddenly  purple  of  visage.  "It 
was  a  true  German  shell,  my  boy,  the  devil 
looking  after  his  own.  The  man  in  the  seat 
with  you  was  cut  up  a  bit ;  the  other  two  were 
thrown  clear  of  the  motor.  If  you  hadn't 
already  given  the  alarm,  they  would  probably 
have  got  off  scot-free.  As  it  was,  the  French 
held  a  drumhead  court  martial  a  little  later, 
and  all  three  of  the  fellows — well,  you  can 
fill  in  the  rest." 

I  was  silent  for  a  minute  while  a  picture 
rose  before  me:  a  dank,  gray  dawn;  a  firing- 
squad,  and  Franz  von  Blenheim's  dark,  grim 
face.  No  doubt  he  had  died  bravely;  but  I 
could  not  pity  him;  I  had  too  clear  a  recollec- 
tion of  the  hall  at  Prezelay. 

"As  for  you,"  Dunny  was  continuing,  "y^^ 
seem  to  have  puzzled  them  finely.  There  you 
were,  in  a  French  uniform,  at  your  last  gasp 
apparently,  and  with  an  American  passport. 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         327 

that  you  seem  to  have  clung  to  through  thick 
and  thin,  inside  your  coat.  They  took  a 
chance  on  you,  though,  because  you  had  made 
them  a  present  of  this  Franz  von  Blenheim; 
and  by  the  next  day,  thanks  to  Miss  Falconer 
and  the  Duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour,  you  were 
being  looked  for  all  over  France. 

"So  that's  how  it  stands.  You're  at 
Raincy-la-Tour  now,  at  the  duke's  chateau. 
The  place  has  been  a  hospital  ever  since  the 
war  began.  Only  you  're  not  with  the  other 
wounded.  You  are — well — a  rather  special 
patient  in  the  pavilion  across  the  lake;  and 
you're  by  way  of  being  a  hero.  The  day  I 
landed,  the  first  paper  I  saw  shrieked  at  me 
how  you  had  tracked  the  kaiser's  star  agent 
and  outwitted  him  and  handed  him  over  to 
justice." 

"The  deuce  it  did!"  I  ejaculated.  "You 
must  have  been  puffed  up  with  pride." 

My  guardian's  jaw  set  itself  rigidly.  "I 
was  too  busy,"  was  his  grim  answer.  "You 
see,  the  end  of  the  statement  said  there  was 
no  hope  that  you  could  siurive.    And  when 


328    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

I  got  here  I  found  you  with  fever,  delirium, 
one  leg  shot  up,  four  bits  of  shell  in  your  head, 
a  fine  case  of  brain  concussion.  That  was 
nearly  three  weeks  ago,  and  it  seems  more 
like  three  years !" 

An  idea,  at  this  point,  made  me  fix  a  search- 
ing gaze  on  him. 

"By  the  way,"  I  asked  accusingly,  "how  did 
you  happen  to  arrive  so  opportunely  on  this 
side?  It  seemed  as  natural  as  possible  to  find 
you  settled  here  waiting  for  my  eyes  to  open ; 
but  on  second  thoughts  I  suppose  you  did  n't 
fly?" 

He  looked  extraordinarily  embarrassed. 

"Why,"  he  growled  at  length,  "I  had  busi- 
ness. I  got  a  cablegram  soon  after  you  left 
New  York.  The  thing  was  confoundedly  in- 
convenient, but  I  had  no  choice  about  it." 

*T)unny,"  I  said  weakly,  but  sternly,  "you 
did  n't  bring  me  up  to  tell  whoppers,  not  bare- 
faced ones  like  that,  anyhow,  that  wouldn't 
deceive  the  veriest  child.  What  earthly  busi- 
ness could  you  have  over  here  in  war-time? 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         329 

Own  up,  now,  and  take  your  medicine  like  a 
man." 

His  guilty  air  was  sufficient  answer. 

"Well,  Dev,"  he  acknowledged,  "it  was  your 
cable.  That  Gibraltar  mess  was  a  nasty  one, 
and  I  did  n't  like  its  looks.  I  'm  getting  old, 
and  you  're  all  I  've  got ;  so  I  took  a  passport 
and  caught  the  Rochambeau.  Not,  of  course, 
that  I  doubted  your  ability  to  take  care  of 
yourself,  my  boy — " 

"Didn't  you?  You  might  have,"  I  ad- 
mitted with  some  ruefulness,  "if  you  had 
known  I  was  bucking  both  the  Allied  govern- 
ments and  the  picked  talent  of  the  Central 
powers.  It  was  too  much.  I  was  riding  for 
a  fall,  and  I  got  it.  But  I  don't  mind  saying, 
Dunny,  I  'm  infernally  glad  you  came." 

He  wiped  his  eyes. 

"Well,  you  go  to  sleep  now,"  he  counseled 
gruffly.  "You  've  got  to  get  well  in  a  hurry; 
there's  work  for  you  to  do!  All  sorts  of 
things  have  been  happening  since  that  obus 
knocked  you  out.     Just  a  week  ago,  for  in- 


330    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE, 

stance,  the  President  went  before  Congress 
and—" 

"What 's  that  you  say?     Not  war?" 

*'Yes,  war,  young  man!  We  're  in  it  at 
last,  up  to  our  necks ;  in  it  with  men  and  ships 
and  munitions  and  foodstuffs  and  everything 
else  we  have  to  help  with,  praise  the  Lord  I 
You  '11  fight  beneath  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  in- 
stead of  under  the  Tricolor.  I  say,  Dev, 
that 's  positively  the  last  word  I  '11  utter. 
You  've  got  to  rest  1" 

In  a  weak,  quavering  fashion,  but  with  sin- 
cere enthusiasm,  I  tried  to  celebrate  by  singing 
a  few  bars  of  the  "Star-Spangled  Banner"  and 
a  little  of  the  "Marseillaise."  Dunny  was 
right,  however ;  the  conversation  had  exhausted 
me.  In  the  midst  of  my  patriotic  demonstra- 
tion I  fell  asleep. 

My  convalescence  was  a  marvel,  I  learned 
from  young  Dr.  Raimbault,  the  surgeon  from 
the  chateau  who  came  to  see  me  every  day. 
According  to  him,  I  was  a  patient  in  a  hun- 
dred, in  a  thousand;  he  never  wearied  of  ad- 
miring my  constitution,  which  he  described  by 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         331 

the  various  French  equivalents  of  "as  hard  as 
nails."  Not  a  set-back  attended  the  course  of 
my  recovery.  First,  I  sat  propped  up  in  bed ; 
then  I  attained  the  dignity  of  an  arm-chair; 
later,  slowly  and  painfully,  I  began  to  drag 
myself  about  the  room.  But  the  day  on  which 
my  physician's  rapture  burst  all  bounds  was 
the  great  one  when  I  crawled  from  the  paviUon, 
gained  a  bench  beneath  the  trees,  and  sat  en- 
throned, glaring  at  my  crutches.  They  were 
detestable  implements;  I  longed  to  smash 
them.  And  they  would,  the  doctor  airily  in- 
formed me,  be  my  portion  for  three  months. 
To  feel  grumpy  in  such  surroundings  was 
certainly  black  ingratitude.  It  was  an  idyllic 
place.  My  pavilion  was  a  sort  of  Trianon, 
a  Marie  Antoinette  bower,  all  flowers  and  gold. 
Fresh  green  woods  grew  about  it;  a  lake 
stretched  before  it;  swans  dotted  the  water 
where  trees  were  mirrored,  and  there  were 
marble  steps  and  balustrades.  Across  this 
glittering  expanse  rose  Raincy-la-Tour,  proud 
and  stately,  with  its  formal  gardens  and  its 
fountains  and  its  Versailles-like  front.     In  the 


882    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

afternoons  I  could  see  the  wounded  soldiers 
walking  there  or  being  pushed  to  and  fro  in 
wheel-chairs;  legless  and  armless,  some  of 
them;  wreckage  of  the  mighty  battle-fields; 
timely  reminders,  poor  heroic  fellows,  that 
there  were  people  in  the  world  a  great  deal 
worse  off  than  I. 

Yet,  instead  of  being  thankful,  I  was  pro- 
foundly wretched.  I  moped  and  sulked;  I 
fell  each  day  into  a  deeper,  more  consistent 
gloom.  I  tried  grimly  to  regain  my  strength, 
with  a  view  to  seeking  other  quarters.  While 
I  stayed  here  I  was  the  guest  of  the  Firefly  of 
France;  and  though  I  admired  him, — I  should 
have  been  a  cad,  a  quitter,  a  poor  loser,  every- 
thing I  had  ever  held  anathema  in  days  gone 
by,  not  to  do  so, — still  I  could  n't  feel  toward 
him  as  a  man  should  feel  toward  his  host ;  not 
in  the  least! 

On  three  separate  occasions  Dunny  motored 
up  to  Paris,  bringing  back  as  the  fruits  of  his 
first  excursion  my  baggage  from  the  Ritz.  I 
was  clothed  again,  in  my  right  mind;  except 
for  my  swathed  head,  I  looked  highly  civilized. 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         333 

The  days  when  I  had  raced  hither  and  yon, 
and  fought  an  unbelievable  battle  in  a  dark 
hall,  and  insanely  masqueraded  first  in  a 
leather  coat,  then  in  a  pale-blue  uniform, 
seemed  dim  and  far-off  indeed. 

"It  was  a  nice  hashish  dream,"  I  told  my 
mirrored  image.  "But  it  was  n't  real,  my  lad, 
for  a  moment;  such  things  don't  happen  to 
folks  like  you.  You  're  not  the  romantic  type ; 
you  don't  look  like  some  one  in  an  old  picture ; 
you  haven't  brought  down  thirty  German 
aeroplanes  or  thereabouts,  and  won  every  war 
medal  the  French  can  give  and  the  name  of 
Ace.  No;  you  look  like  a — a  correct  bulldog; 
and  winning  an  occasional  polo  cup  is  about 
your  limit.  Even  if  it  hadn't  been  settled 
before  you  met  her,  you  would  n't  have  stood 
a  chance." 

There  were  times  when  I  prayed  never  to 
see  Esme  Falconer  again.  There  were  other 
times  when  I  knew  I  would  drag  myself  round 
the  world — ^yes,  on  my  crutches  I — if  at  the 
end  of  the  journey  I  could  see  her  for  an  in- 
stant, a  long  way  off.     I  could  see  that  my 


334    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

despondency  was  driving  Dunny  to  distrac- 
tion. He  evolved  the  theory  that  I  was  going 
into  a  decline. 

Then  came  the  afternoon  that  made  history. 
I  was  sitting  at  my  window.  The  trees  seemed 
specially  green,  the  sky  specially  blue,  the 
lake  specially  bright.  I  was  feeling  stronger 
and  was  glmnly  planning  a  move  to  Paris 
when  I  saw  an  automobile  speed  up  the 
poplared  walk  toward  Raincy-la-Tour. 

Rip-snorting  and  chugging,  the  thing  exe- 
cuted a  curve  before  the  chateau,  and  then, 
hugging  the  side  of  the  lake,  advanced,  obvi- 
ously toward  my  humble  abode.  My  heart 
seemed  to  turn  a  somersault.  I  should  have 
known  that  car  if  I  had  met  it  in  Bagdad.  It 
was  a  long  blue  motor,  polished  to  the  last 
notch,  deeply  cushioned,  luxurious,  poignantly 
familiar,  the  car,  in  short,  that  I  had  pursued 
to  Bleau,  and  that  later,  in  flat  defiance  of 
President  Poincare  or  the  Generalissimo  of 
France,  or  whoever  makes  army  rules  and 
regulations,  I  had  guided  through  the  war  zone 
to  the  castle  of  Prezelay. 


AT  RAINCY-LA-TOUR         335 

As  the  chauffeur  halted  it  near  the  pavilion, 
it  disgorged  three  occupants,  one  of  whom,  a 
young  officer,  slender  of  form  and  gracefully 
alert  of  movement,  wore  the  dark-blue  uniform 
of  the  French  Flying  Corps.  I  knew  him 
only  too  well.  It  was  Jean-Herve-Marie- 
Olivier.  But  the  glance  I  gave  him  was  most 
cursory;  my  attention  was  focused  hungrily 
on  the  two  ladies  in  the  tonneau.  They  had 
risen  and  were  divesting  themselves  in  leisurely 
fashion  of  a  most  complicated  arrangement 
of  motor  coats  and  veils. 

From  these  swathing  disguises  there  first 
emerged,  as  if  from  a  chrysalis,  a  black-clad, 
distinguished-looking  young  woman  whom  I 
had  never  seen  before.  However,  it  was  the 
second  figure,  the  one  in  the  rosy  veils  and 
the  tan  mantle,  that  was  exciting  me.  Off 
came  her  wrappings,  and  I  saw  a  girl  in  a 
white  gown  and  a  flowered  hat — the  loveliest 
girl  on  earth. 

I  did  not  stand  on  the  order  of  my  going. 
I  rocked  perilously,  and  my  crutches  made  a 
furious  clatter,  but  I  was  outside  in  a  truly 


336    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

infinitesimal  space  of  time.  Yes;  there  they 
were,  chatting  with  Dunny,  who  had  hurried 
to  meet  them.  And  at  sight  of  me  the  Fire- 
fly of  France  ran  forward  with  hands  extended, 
greeting  me  as  if  I  were  his  oldest  friend,  his 
brother,  his  dearest  comrade  in  arms. 

I  took  his  hands  and  I  pressed  them  with 
what  show  of  warmth  I  could  summon.  It 
was  as  pleasant  as  a  bit  of  torture,  but  it  had  to 
be  gone  through.  Then  I  stared  past  him 
toward  the  ladies,  who  were  coming  up  with 
Dunny;  and  except  for  that  girl  in  white,  I 
saw  nothing  in  all  the  world. 

"Monsieur,"  the  duke  was  saying,  "I  pay 
you  my  first  visit.  Only  my  weakness  has 
prevented  me  from  sooner  welcoming  to 
Raincy-la-Tour  so  honored  a  guest." 

He  turned  to  the  lady  who  stood  beside  Miss 
Falconer,  a  slender,  dark-eyed,  gracious  young 
woman  wearing  a  simple  black  gown  and  a 
black  hat  and  a  string  of  pearls. 

"Here  is  another,"  said  the  Firefly,  "who  has 
come  to  welcome  you.  Oh,  yes,  Monsieur,  you 
must  know,  and  you  must  count  henceforth  as 


THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE    337 

your  friends  in  any  need,  even  to  the  death,  all 
those  who  bear  the  name  of  Raincy-la-Tour. 
Permit  that  I  present  you  to  my  wife,  who  is  of 
your  country." 

"Jean's  wife  is  my  sister,  Mr.  Bayne,"  Miss 
Falconer  said. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AN   UNEXPECTED  VISIT 

I  DON'T  know  what  they  thought  of  me, 
probably  that  I  was  crazy.  For  a  good 
minute,  a  long  sixty  seconds,  I  simply  stood 
and  stared.  The  duke's  blue  uniform,  his 
wife's  black-gowned  figure,  and  the  white,  radi- 
ant blur  that  was  Miss  Falconer  revolved  about 
me  in  spinning,  starry  circles.  I  gasped,  put 
out  a  hand,  fortunately  encountered  Dunny's 
shoulder,  and,  leaning  heavily  on  that  per- 
plexed person,  at  last  got  back  my  intelligence 
and  my  breath. 

"Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Mr. 
Bayne?"  smiled  the  Duchess  of  Raincy-la- 
Tour. 

I  was  virtually  sane  again. 

"I  do  hope,"  I  said,  "that  you  will  forgive 
me.  Not  that  I  see  the  slightest  reason  why 
you  should,  I  am  sure.     Life  is  too  short  to 

338 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     339 

wipe  out  such  a  bad  impression.  I  know  how 
you  'U  remember  me  all  your  days ;  as  an  idiot 
with  a  head  done  up  in  layers  of  toweling,  wob- 
bhng  on  two  crutches  and  gaping  at  you  hke  a 
fish." 

But  the  duchess  was  still  holding  my  hand  in 
both  of  hers  and  smiling  up  at  me  from  a  pair 
of  great,  dark,  tender  eyes,  the  loveliest  pair  of 
eyes  in  the  world,  bar  one.  No,  bar  none,  to 
be  quite  fair.  The  Firefly's  wife,  most  people 
would  have  said,  was  more  beautiful  than  her 
sister ;  but  then,  beauty  is  what  pleases  you,  as 
some  wise  man  remarked  long  ago. 

"I  don't  believe,  Mr.  Bayne,"  she  was  saying 
gently,  "that  I  shall  ever  remember  you  in  any 
unpleasant  way.  You  see,  I  know  about  those 
bandages,  and  I  know  why  you  need  those 
crutches.  Even  if  you  were  vain,  you 
would  n't  mind  the  things  I  think  of  you — not 
at  aU." 

I  lack  any  clear  recollection  of  the  quarter 
of  an  hour  that  followed.  I  know  that  we 
talked  and  laughed  and  were  very  friendly  and 
very  cheerful,  and  that  Danny's  eyes,  as  they 


340    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

studied  me,  began  to  hold  a  gleam  of  intelli- 
gence, as  if  he  were  guessing  something  about 
the  reasons  for  my  former  black  despondency. 
I  recall  that  the  duke's  hand  was  on  my 
shoulder,  and  that — odd  how  one's  attitude  can 
change ! — I  liked  to  feel  it.  We  were  going  to 
be  great  friends,  tremendous  pals,  I  suspected. 
And  every  time  I  looked  at  the  duchess  she 
seemed  lovelier,  more  gracious;  she  was  the 
very  wife  I  would  have  chosen  for  such  a  cork- 
ing chap. 

This,  however,  was  by  the  way.  None  of  it 
really  mattered.  While  I  paid  compliments 
and  suppKed  details  as  to  my  convalescence 
and  answered  Dunny's  chaffing,  I  saw  only  one 
member  of  the  party,  the  girl  in  white.  She 
was  rather  silent;  she  gave  me  only  fugitive 
glances.  But  she  was  n't  engaged,  at  least  not 
to  the  Firefly.    Hurrah  I 

What  an  agonizing,  heart-rending,  utterly 
unnecessary  experience  I  had  endured,  now 
that  I  thought  of  it!  I  had  jumped  to  conclu- 
sions with  the  agility  of  a  kangaroo.  He  had 
kissed  her;  she  had  allowed  it.    Did  that  prove 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     341 

that  he  was  her  fiance?  He  might  have  been 
an>i;hing — her  cousin  or  an  old  friend  of  her 
childhood,  or  her  sister's  husband's  nephew. 
But  brother-in-law  was  best  of  all,  not  too  re- 
mote or  yet  too  close.  In  that  relationship,  I 
decided,  he  was  ideal. 

By  this  time  I  was  wondering  how  long  we 
were  to  stand  here  exchanging  ideas  and  persi- 
flage, an  animated  group  of  five.  The  duke 
and  duchess  were  charming,  but  I  had  had 
enough  of  them ;  I  could  have  spared  even  good 
old  Dunny;  what  I  wanted,  and  wanted  fran- 
tically, was  a  tete-a-tete;  just  Esme  Falconer 
and  myself.  When  I  saw  two  automobiles, 
packed  imposingly  with  uniformed  figures, 
speed  up  the  drive  to  the  chateau,  hope  stirred 
in  me.  With  suppressed  joy, — I  trust  it  was 
suppressed, — I  heard  the  duke  exclaim  that 
this  was  General  Le  Cazeau,  due  to  visit  the 
hospital  with  his  staff  and  greet  the  wounded 
and  bestow  on  certain  lucky  beings  the  reward 
of  their  valor  in  the  shape  of  medals  of  war. 
Obviously,  it  would  have  been  inexcusable  for 
the  master  and  mistress  of  Raincy-la-Tour  to 


842    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

ignore  a  visitor  so  distinguished.  I  made  no 
protest  whatever  as  they  turned  to  go. 

"But,  Miss  Falconer,"  I  implored  fervently, 
"you  won't  desert  me,  will  you?  Pity  a  poor 
blesse  that  no  general  cares  two  straws  to  see !" 

She  smiled,  an  omen  that  encouraged  me  to 
send  Dunny  a  look  of  meaning;  but  my 
guardian,  bless  him,  had  grasped  the  situation; 
he  was  already  gone. 

Down  by  the  water  among  the  trees  there 
was  a  marble  bench,  and  with  one  accord  we 
turned  our  steps  that  way.  I  emphasized  my 
game  leg  shamelessly;  I  positively  flourished 
my  crutches.  My  battle  scars,  I  guessed  from 
the  girl's  kind  eyes,  appealed  to  her  compas- 
sion, and  as  soon  as  I  suspected  this  I  thanked 
my  stars  for  that  German  shell. 

"Isn't  there  anyihing,"  she  said  as  we  sat 
down,  "that  you  want  to  ask  me?  I  think  I 
should  be  curious  if  I  were  you.  After  all  we 
have  done  together  there  isn't  much  beyond 
my  name  that  you  know  of  me,  and  you  knew 
that  in  Jersey  City  the  night  the  Re  d'ltalia 
sailed." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     343 

I  shook  my  head. 

"There  was  just  one  thing  I  wanted  to 
know,"  I  answered  cryptically,  "and  I  learned 
that  when  your  brother-in-law  presented  me 
to  his  wife.  Still,  there  is  nothing  on  earth  you 
can  tell  me  that  I  sha'n't  be  glad  to  listen  to. 
Say  the  multiplication  table  if  you  like,  or  re- 
cite cook-book  recipes.  Anything — if  you'll 
only  stay!" 

Little  golden  flickers  of  sunshine  came  steal- 
ing through  the  branches,  dancing,  as  the  girl 
talked,  on  her  gown  and  in  her  hair.  I  looked 
more  than  I  listened.  I  had  been  starved  for  a 
sight  of  her.  And  my  eyes  must  have  told  my 
thoughts ;  for  a  flush  crept  into  her  cheeks,  and 
her  lashes  fluttered,  and  she  looked  not  at  me, 
but  across  the  swan-dotted  lake  toward  the 
towers  of  Raincy-la-Tour. 

After  all  there  was  little  that  I  had  not 
guessed  already;  but  each  detail  held  its  magic, 
because  it  was  she  who  spoke.  If  she  had  said 
"I  like  oranges  and  lemons,"  the  statement 
would  have  held  me  spellbound.  I  sat  raptly 
gazing  while  she  told  me  of  herself  and  her 


344    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

sister  Enid;  of  their  life,  after  the  death  of 
their  parents,  with  an  aunt  whose  home  was  in 
Pittsburgh ;  of  their  travels ;  and  of  a  winter  at 
Nice,  four  years  ago,  when  the  blue  of  the  skies 
and  seas  and  the  whiteness  of  the  sands  and  the 
green  of  the  palms  had  all  seemed  created  to 
frame  the  meeting  and  the  love  affair  of  Enid 
Falconer  and  the  young  nobleman  who  was 
now  known  to  the  world  as  the  Firefly  of 
France. 

Their  marriage  had  proved  an  ideal  one,  as 
happy  as  it  was  brilliant.  Esme,  thereafter, 
had  spent  half  her  time  in  Europe  with  her  sis- 
ter, half  in  America  with  her  aunt,  who  was 
growing  old.  Then  had  come  the  war.  At 
first  it  had  covered  the  duke  with  laurels.  But 
a  certain  dark  day  had  brought  a  cable  from 
the  duchess,  telling  of  his  disappearance  and 
the  suspicion  that  surrounded  it;  and  Esme, 
despite  her  aunt's  entreaties,  had  promptly 
taken  passage  on  the  next  ship  that  sailed. 

"I  had  meant  to  go  within  a  month,  as  a  Red 
Cross  nurse,"  she  told  me.  "I  had  my  pass- 
port, and  I  had  taken  a  course.    Well,  I  came 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     345 

on  to  New  York  and  spent  the  night  there. 
Aunt  Alice  telegraphed  to  her  lawyer,  the 
dearest,  primmest  old  fellow,  and  he  dined  with 
me,  protesting  all  the  time  against  my  sailing. 
I  saw  you  in  the  St.  Ives  restaurant.  Did  you 
see  us?" 

"Let  me  think."  I  pretended  to  rack  my 
brains.  "I  believe  I  do  recall  something,  in  a 
hazy  sort  of  way.  You  had  on  a  rose-colored 
gown  that  was  distinctly  wonderful,  and  when 
we  tracked  the  German  to  the  door  of  your 
room,  you  were  wearing  an  evening  coat,  bright 
blue.  But  the  main  thing  was  your  hair!" 
Here  I  became  lyric.  "An  oak-leaf  in  the  sun- 
light. Miss  Falconer!     Threads  of  gold!" 

But  she  ignored  me,  very  properly,  and 
shifted  the  scene  from  hotel  to  steamer,  where 
Franz  von  Blenheim,  in  the  guise  of  Van  Blar- 
com,  had  given  her  a  fright.  As  she  exhibited 
her  passport  at  the  gang-plank,  he  had  read  her 
name  across  her  shoulder ;  then  he  had  claimed 
acquaintance  with  her,  a  claim  that  she  knew 
was  false. 

"And  he  was  n't  impertinent.    That  was  the 


346    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

worst  of  it,"  she  faltered.  "He  did  it — well — 
accusingly.  I  had  known  all  along  that  any 
one  who  knew  of  Jean's  marriage  would  recog- 
nize my  name.  And  Jean  was  suspected,  and 
the  French  are  strict ;  if  they  were  warned,  they 
would  not  let  me  enter  France;  they  would 
think  I  had  come  spying.  I  was  afraid. 
Then,  after  dinner,  I  went  on  deck  and  found 
you  standing  by  the  railing  reading  that  paper 
with  its  staring  headlines  about  Jean." 

"Of  course!"  I  exclaimed.  At  last  I  fath- 
omed that  puzzling  episode.  "You  thought 
the  paper  might  speak  of  the  duke's  marriage, 
that  it  might  mention  your  sister's  name.  In 
that  case,  if  it  stayed  on  board,  it  might  be  seen 
by  the  captain  or  by  an  officer,  and  they  would 
guess  who  you  were  and  warn  the  authorities 
when  we  got  to  shore." 

"Yes.  That  was  why  I  borrowed  it.  And 
I  was  right,  I  discovered;  just  at  the  end  the 
account  said  that  Jean  had  married  an  Ameri- 
can, a  Miss  Enid  Falconer,  four  years  ago. 
Then  I  asked  you  to  throw  it  overboard,  Mr. 
Bayne;  and  you  were  wonderful.     You  must 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     347 

have  thought  I  was  mad,  but  you  did  n't  flutter 
an  eyehd  or  even  smile.  I  have  never  forgot- 
ten— and  I  've  never  forgiven  myself  either. 
When  I  think  of  how  the  steward  saw  you  and 
told  the  captain,  and  of  how  they  searched  your 
baggage  that  dreadful  day — " 

"It  didn't  matter  a  brass  farden!"  I  has- 
tened to  assure  her,  for  she  had  paused  and  was 
gazing  at  me,  large-eyed  and  pale.  "Don't 
think  of  that  any  more.  Suppose  we  skip  to 
Paris!  Blenheim  followed  you  there,  hoping 
he  was  on  the  scent  of  the  vanished  papers ;  and 
when  you  arrived  at  the  rue  St.-Dominique, 
there  was  still  no  news  of  the  duke." 

"No  news,"  she  mourned;  "not  a  word. 
And  Enid  was  ill  and  hopeless ;  from  the  very 
first  she  had  felt  sure  that  Jean  was  dead. 
But  I  would  n't  admit  it.  I  said  we  must  try 
to  find  him.  All  the  way  over  in  the  steamer  I 
had  been  making  a  sort  of  plan. 

"You  see,  one  of  the  papers  had  described 
how  the  French  had  found  Jean's  airship  lying 
in  the  forest  of  La  Fay,  as  if  he  had  abandoned 
it  from  choice.     That  was  considered  proof  of 


348    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

his  treason ;  but  of  course  I  knew  that  it  was  n't. 
I  remembered  that  the  Marquis  of  Prezelay, 
Jean's  cousin,  had  a  castle  on  the  forest  out- 
skirts; I  had  been  to  visit  it  with  Jean  and 
Enid.     I  wondered  if  he  might  be  there. 

"The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  likelier  it 
seemed.  If  he  had  been  wounded  and  had 
wanted  to  hide  his  papers,  he  would  have  re- 
membered the  castle  and  the  secret  panel  in 
the  wall.  Even  if  he  were — dead,  which  I 
would  n't  believe,  it  would  clear  his  name  if  I 
found  the  proof  of  it.  So  I  told  Enid  I  would 
go  to  Prezelay." 

I  was  resting  my  arms  on  my  knees  and 
groaning  softly. 

"Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord!"  I  murmured,  wishing 
I  could  stop  my  ears.  When  I  thought  of  that 
brave  venture  of  the  girl's  and  its  perils  and 
what  had  nearly  come  of  it  I  found  myself 
shuddering ;  and  yet  I  was  growing  prouder  of 
her  with  every  word. 

"What  comes  next,"  she  confessed,  "is  terri- 
ble. I  can  hardly  believe  it.  As  I  look  back, 
it  seems  to  me  that  we  were  all  a  httle  mad. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT     349 

To  get  through  the  war  zone  to  Prezelay  I  had 
to  have  certain  papers;  and  I  got  them  from 
an  American  girl,  an  old  friend  of  Enid's  and 
of  mine,  Marie  Le  Clair.  The  morning  I  ar- 
rived in  Paris  she  came  to  say  good-by  to  Enid. 
She  was  acting  as  a  Red  Cross  nm-se,  and  they 
were  sending  her  to  the  hospital  at  Carrefonds 
to  take  the  first  consignment  of  the  great  new 
remedy  for  burns  and  scars.  Carrefonds  is 
very  near  Prezelay.  It  all  came  to  me  in  a 
moment.  I  told  her  how  matters  stood  and 
how  Enid  was  dying  little  by  little,  just  for 
lack  of  any  sure  knowledge.  She  gave  me  the 
papers  she  had  for  herself  and  her  chauffeur, 
Jacques  Carton,  and  I  used  them  for  myself 
and  for  Georges,  Jean's  foster-brother,  who 
was  at  home  from  the  Front  on  leave  and  was 
staying  in  his  old  room  at  the  house." 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!"  I  sputtered.  "You 
did  n't — you  don't  mean  to  say  that —  Why, 
good  heavens,  did  n't  you  know — ?" 

Then  I  petered  off  into  silence;  words  were 
too  weak  for  my  emotions.  She  had  seen  the 
risk  of  course,  and  so  had  the  girl  who  had 


850    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

helped  her;  but  with  the  incredible  bravery  of 
women,  they  had  acted  with  open  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  faltered;  "I  told  you  I  felt  mad, 
looking  back  at  it.  But  Marie  is  safe  now; 
Jean  has  worked  for  her,  and  his  relatives  and 
friends  have  helped,  and  the  minister  of  war. 
It  was  the  only  way.  Under  my  own  name  I 
could  never  have  got  leave  to  enter  the  war 
zone  while  Jean  was  missing  and  suspected — 
What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Bayne?"  For  once 
more  I  had  groaned  aloud. 

"Simply,"  I  cried  stormily,  "that  I  can't  bear 
thinking  of  it!  The  idea  of  your  taking  risks, 
of  your  daring  the  police  and  the  Germans — 
you  who  oughtn't  to  know  what  the  word 
danger  means!  I  tell  you  I  can't  stand  it. 
Was  n't  there  some  man  to  do  it  for  you? 
Well,  it 's  over  now;  and  in  the  future —  See 
here.  Miss  Falconer,  I  can't  wait  any  longer. 
There  is  something  I  've  got  to  say." 

But  I  was  not  to  say  it  yet,  for,  behold!  just 
as  my  tongue  was  loosened,  I  became  aware  of 
a  most  distinguished  galaxy  approaching  us 
round  the  lake.    All  save  one  of  its  members 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT      351 

— ^Dunny,  to  be  exact — were  in  uniform;  and 
the  personage  in  the  lead,  walking  between  my 
guardian  and  the  duke  of  Raincy-la-Tour,  was 
truly  dazzling,  being  arrayed  in  a  blue  coat  and 
spectacularly  red  trousers  and  wearing  as  a  fin- 
ishing touch  a  red  cap  freely  braided  with  gold. 
Miss  Falconer  had  risen. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "it  is  General  Le 
Cazeau!" 

"Then  confound  General  Le  Cazeau  I"  was 
my  inhospitable  cry. 

He  was,  I  saw  when  he  drew  closer,  a  person 
of  stately  dignity,  as  indeed  the  hero  who  had 
saved  Merlancourt  and  broken  that  last  furi- 
ous, desperate,  senseless  onslaught  of  the 
Boches  ought  by  rights  to  be.  Perhaps  his 
splendor  made  me  nervous.  At  any  rate,  my 
conscience  smote  me.  I  remembered  with  sud- 
den panic  all  my  manifold  transgressions,  be- 
ginning with  the  hour  when  I  had  chucked 
reason  overboard  and  had  deliberately  con- 
cealed a  murdered  man's  body  beneath  a  heap 
of  straw. 

"I  believe,"  I  gasped,  "that  this  is  an  infor- 


852    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

mal  court  martial.  Nobody  could  do  the 
things  I  have  done  and  be  allowed  to  live. 
Still,  I  don't  see  why  they  cured  me  if  they 
were  going  to  hang  or  shoot  me." 

I  struggled  up  with  the  help  of  my  crutches 
and  stood  waiting  my  doom. 

The  group  had  paused  before  us,  and  pre- 
sentations followed,  throughout  which  the  mas- 
ter of  ceremonies  was  the  Firefly  of  France. 
Then  the  gray-headed  general  fixed  me  with  a 
keen,  stem  gaze  rather  like  an  eagle's. 

"Your  affair.  Monsieur,  has  been  of  an  irreg- 
ularity," he  said. 

As  with  kaleidoscopic  swiftness  the  details 
of  my  "aflPair"  passed  through  my  memory,  it 
was  only  by  an  effort  that  I  restrained  an  in- 
decorous shoUt.  He  was  correct.  I  could  call 
to  mind  no  single  feature  that  had  been  "reg- 
ular," from  the  thief  who  was  not  a  thief  and 
had  flown  out  of  my  window  like  a  conjurer, 
to  the  fight  in  Prezelay  castle  where  I  had  van- 
quished four  husky  Germans,  mostly  by  the 
aid  of  a  wooden  table,  of  all  implements  on 
earth. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT      353 

*lt  is  too  true.  Monsieur  le  General"  I 
assented  promptly.  My  humility  seemed  to 
soften  him;  he  relaxed;  he  even  approached  a 
smile. 

"Of  an  irregularity,"  he  repeated.  "But 
also  it  was  of  a  gallantry.  With  a  boldness 
and  a  resource  and  a  scorn  for  danger  that,  per- 
mit me  to  say,  mark  your  compatriots,  you  have 
unmasked  and  handed  over  to  us  one  of  our 
most  dangerous  foes.  For  such  service  as  you 
have  rendered  France  is  never  ungrateful. 
And,  moreover,  there  have  been  friends  to 
plead  your  cause  and  to  plead  it  well." 

As  he  ended  he  cast  a  glance  at  the  Duke  of 
Raincy-la-Tour  and  one  at  Dunny,  whereupon 
I  was  enlightened  as  to  the  purpose  of  my 
guardian's  three  trips  to  Paris  the  preceding 
week.  I  beheve  I  have  said  before  that  Dunny 
knows  every  one,  everjrwhere;  in  fact,  I  have 
always  felt  that  should  circumstances  conspire 
to  make  me  temporarily  adopt  a  hfe  of  crime, 
he  could  manage  to  pull  such  wires  as  would 
reinstate  me  in  the  public  eye.  But  the  gen- 
eral was  steppmg  close  to  me. 


354    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

"Monsieur,"  he  was  saying,  "we  are  now 
allies,  my  country  and  the  great  nation  of 
which  you  are  a  son.  Very  soon  your  troops 
are  coming.  You  will  fight  on  our  soil,  be- 
neath your  own  banner.  But  your  first  blood 
was  shed  for  France,  your  first  wounds  borne 
for  her.  Monsieur ;  and  in  gratitude  she  offers 
you  this  medal  of  her  brave." 

He  was  pinning  something  to  my  coat,  a 
bronze-colored,  cross-shaped  something,  a  dec- 
oration that  swung  proudly  from  a  ribbon  of 
red  and  green.  I  knew  it  well ;  I  had  seen  it  on 
the  breasts  of  generals,  captains,  simple  poilus, 
all  the  picked  flower  of  the  French  nation. 
With  a  thrill  I  looked  down  upon  it.  It  was 
the  Cross  of  War. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  THUNDERBOLT   OF   WAB 

THE  great  moment  had  arrived.  General 
Le  Cazeau  and  his  staff  were  on  their  way 
back  to  Paris.  The  duke  and  duchess  were  at 
the  chateau  talking  with  the  blesses;  for  the 
second  time  Dunny  had  tactfully  disappeared. 
The  approach  of  evening  had  spurred  my  falt- 
ering courage.  As  the  first  rosiness  of  sunset 
touched  the  skies  beyond  Raincy-la-Tour  and 
lay  across  the  water,  I  sat  at  the  side  of  the 
only  girl  in  the  world  and  poured  out  my  plea. 
"It  isn't  fair,  you  know,"  I  mourned. 
"I  've  only  a  few  minutes.  I  should  n't  won- 
der if  we  heard  your  car  honking  for  you  in 
half  an  hour.  To  make  a  girl  like  you  look  at 
a  man  hke  me  would  take  days  of  eloquence, 
and,  besides,  who  would  think  of  marrying  any 
one  with  his  head  bound  up  Turkish  fashion 
as  mine  is  now?" 

365 


856    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

She  laughed,  and  at  the  silvery  sound  of  it  I 
plucked  up  a  hint  of  courage;  for  surely,  I 
thought,  she  wasn't  cruel  enough  to  make 
game  of  me  as  she  turned  me  down.  Still,  I 
could  n't  really  hope.  She  was  too  wonderful, 
and  my  courtship  had  been  too  inadequate. 
Despondent,  arms  on  my  knees,  I  harped  upon 
the  same  string. 

"I  've  never  had  a  chance  to  show  you,"  I 
lamented,  ''that  I  am  civilized;  that  I  know 
how  to  take  care,  of  you  and  put  cushions  be- 
hind you  and  slide  footstools  under  your  feet, 
and — er — all  that.  We  've  been  too  busy 
eluding  Germans  and  racing  through  forbid- 
den zones  and  rescuing  papers  from  behind 
secret  panels,  for  me  to  wait  on  you.  Good 
heavens !  To  think  how  I  've  done  my  duty 
by  a  hundred  girls  I  should  n't  know  from  Eve 
if  they  happened  along  this  moment!  And 
I  've  never  even  sent  you  a  box  of  marrona 
glaces  or  flowers." 

She  shot  a  fleeting  glance  at  me. 

"No,"  she  agreed,  "you  haven't!  If  you 
don't  mind  my  saying  so,  I  think  they  would 


A  THUNDERBOLT  OF  WAR    357 

have  been  out  of  place.  At  Bleau,  for  in- 
stance, and  at  Prezelay  I  had  n't  much  time  for 
eating  bonbons;  but  after. all  you  did  me  one  or 
two  more  practical  services,  Mr.  Bayne." 

"Nothing,"  I  maintained,  my  gloom  un- 
abated, "that  amounted  to  a  row  of  pins. 
Though  I  might  have  shone,  I  '11  admit ;  I  can 
see  that,  looking  back.  The  opportunity  was 
there,  but  the  man  was  lacking.  I  might  have 
been  a  real  movie  hero,  cool,  resourceful,  de- 
pendable, clear-sighted,  a  tower  of  strength; 
and  what  I  did  was  to  muddle  things  up  hope- 
lessly and  waste  time  in  suspecting  you  and 
seize  every  opportimity  of  trusting  people  who 
positively  spread  their  guilt  before  my  eyes*" 

"I  don't  know."  She  was  looking  at  the 
lake,  not  at  me,  and  she  was  smiling.  "There 
were  one  or  two  little  matters  that  have  slipped 
your  mind,  perhaps.  Take  the  very  first  night 
we  met,  when  you  tracked  your  thief  to  my 
room  and  would  n't  let  the  hotel  people  come  in 
to  search  it.  Don't  you  think,  on  the  whole, 
that  you  were  rather  kind?" 

"I  could  n't  have  driven  them  in,"  I  declared 


858    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

stubbornly,  "with  a  pitchfork.  I  couldn't 
have  persuaded  them  to  make  a  search  if  I  had 
prayed  them  on  my  bended  knees.  Their  one 
idea  was  to  help  the  fellow  in  what  the  best 
criminal  circles  call  a  getaway;  and  when  I 
think  how  I  must  have  been  wool-gathering, 
not  to  guess — " 

"Well,  even  so," — Miss  Falconer  was  still 
smiling — "weren't  you  very  nice  on  the 
steamer?  About  the  extra,  I  mean.  And  at 
Gibraltar,  too,  when  they  asked  you  what  you 
had  thrown  overboard — do  you  remember  how 
you  kept  silent  and  never  even  glanced  my 
way?" 

"No,"  I  groaned,  "I  don't;  but  I  remember 
our  trip  to  Paris.  I  remember  marching  you 
into  the  wagon-restaurant  like  a  hand-cuffed 
criminal,  and  sitting  you  down  at  a  table,  and 
bullying  you  like  a  Russian  czar.  I  gave  you 
three  days  to  leave  France.  Have  you  forgot- 
ten? I  haven't.  The  one  thing  I  omitted — 
and  I  don't  see  how  I  missed  it — was  to  call  the 
gendarmes  there  at  Modane  and  denounce  you 
to  them.     It 's  more  than  kind  of  you  to  glide 


A  THUNDERBOLT  OF  WAR    359 

over  my  imbecilities;  I  appreciate  it.  But 
when  I  think  of  that  evening  I  want  a  nice, 
deep,  dark  dungeon,  somewhere  underground, 
to  hide." 

"I  think,"  she  murmured,  consolingly,  "that 
you  made  amends  to  me  later."  Her  face  was 
averted,  but  I  could  see  a  distracting  dimple  in 
her  cheek.  "You  mustn't  forget  that  I 
have  n't  been  perfect,  either.  When  you  fol- 
lowed me  to  Bleau,  and  I  came  down  the  stairs 
and  saw  you,  I  misunderstood  the  situation  en- 
tirely and  was  as  unpleasant  as  I  could  be." 

"Naturally,"  I  acquiesced  with  dark  mean- 
ing. "How  could  you  have  understood  it? 
How  could  any  human  being  have  fathomed 
the  mental  processes  that  sent  me  there?  I 
only  wonder  that  instead  of  giving  me  what- 
for,  you  didn't  murder  me.  Any  United 
States  jury  would  have  acquitted  you  with  the 
highest  praise." 

She  turned  upon  me,  flushed  and  spirited. 

"Mr.  Bayne,  you  are  incorrigible  I  Why 
will  you  insist  on  belittling  everything  that  you 
have  done?    I  suppose  you  will  claim  next  that 


860    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

you  did  n't  risk  imprisonment  or  death  every 
minute  of  a  whole  day,  just  to  help  me,  and 
that  at  Prezelay  you  did  n't  fight  like  a — a — 
yes,  like  a  paladin! — to  save  me  from  being 
tortured  by  Herr  von  Blenheim  and  his  men?" 

I  started  up  and  then  sank  back. 

"As  a  special  favor,"  I  begged  her,  "would 
you  mind  not  mentioning  that  last  phase  of  the 
affair?  When  you  do,  I  go  berserker;  I'm 
a  crazy  man,  seeing  red ;  I  'm  honestly  not  re- 
sponsible. It  was  when  our  friend  Blenheim 
developed  those  plans  of  his  that  I  swore  in  my 
soul  I  'd  get  him;  and  I  thank  the  Lord  that 
I  did  and  that  he  '11  never  trouble  you  or  any 
other  woman  again. 

"Still,  Miss  Falconer,  what  does  all  that 
amount  to?  Any  man  would  have  helped  you, 
would  n't  he?  A  nice  sort  of  fellow  I  should 
have  been  to  do  any  less !  Whereas  for  a  girl 
like  you  I  ought  to  have  accomplished  miracles. 
I  ought  to  have  made  the  sun  stop  moving,  or 
got  you  the  stars  to  play  with,  or  whisked  the 
moon  out  of  the  skies." 


A  THUNDERBOLT  OF  WAR    361 

She  was  laughing  again. 

"Dear  me!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  fervor! 
Can  this  be  my  Mr.  Bayne,  the  Mr.  Bayne  of 
our  adventure,  who  never  turned  a  hair  no 
matter  what  mad  things  happened,  and  who 
was  always  so  correct  and  conventional  and  so 
immaculately  dressed,  and  so — " 

"Stodgy!  Say  it!"  I  cried  with  utter  reck- 
lessness. "I  know  I  was;  Dunny  told  me  so 
that  evening  at  the  St.  Ives.  Have  as  many 
cracks  at  me  as  you  like.  I  was  getting  fat; 
I  was  beginning  to  think  that  the  most  impor- 
tant thing  in  the  universe  was  dinner.  Well, 
I  'm  not  stodgy  any  longer,  Esme  Falconer; 
you  've  reformed  me.  But  of  all  the  men  in  all 
the  ages  who  were  ever  desperately,  con- 
sumedly,  imbecilely  in  love — " 

In  the  distance  two  figures  were  strolling 
toward  the  blue  car,  the  duke  and  the  duchess. 
When  they  reached  it,  the  Firefly  cast  a  glance 
in  our  direction  and  sounded  a  warning,  most 
unwelcome  honk  upon  the  horn.  They  were 
going,  stony-hearted  creatures  that  they  were! 


862    THE  FIREFLY  OF  FRANCE 

They  were  taking  Esme  back  to  Paris.  At  the 
thought  I  abandoned  my  last  pretense  at  self- 
command. 

"Esme,  dearest,"  I  implored,  "do  you  think 
you  could  put  up  with  me?  Could  you  marry 
me  when  I  Ve  done  my  part  over  here — or  even 
sooner — right  away  ?  A  dozen  better  men  may 
love  you,  but  mine  is  a  special  brand  of  love — 
unique,  incomparable!  Are  you  going  to 
have  me — or  shall  I  jump  into  the  lake?" 

The  sunset  light  was  in  her  hair  and  in  the 
gray,  starry  eyes  she  turned  to  me — those  eyes 
that,  because  their  lashes  were  so  long  and 
crinkled  so  maddeningly,  were  only  half  re- 
vealed.    Her  lips  curved  in  a  fleeting  smile. 

"Oh,  you  dear,  blind,  silly  man!  Do  you 
think  any  girl  could  help  loving  you — after  all 
that  has  happened  to  you  and  me?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Then  I  caught  her  to  me;  and  despite  my 
crutches  and  my  bandaged  head  and  that 
atrocious  horn  in  the  distance  honking  the  sig- 
nal for  our  parting,  I  was  the  happiest  being  in 
France — or  in  the  world. 


A  THUNDERBOLT  OF  WAR    363 

"I  knew  all  along  it  was  a  dream,  and  it  is  I 
Such  things  don't  really  happen.  No  such 
luck!"  I  cried. 


THE  END 


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/ 

'"i  2if  l^ 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


